Mary Oliver has a new book of poetry,Thirst, out now.
It is exquisite.
There were poems that made me hold my breath in awe of their loveliness.
But, methinks that many of us, who love Oliver for her seemingly paganistic love of the earth, may be disturbed because, in the wake of the death of her life-partner, Oliver mentions Jesus.
As far as grief is concerned, I believe that whatever gets you through the night is the right thing to do. Ms. Oliver is entitled to whatever comfort she can find.
My grief has not made me turn to Jesus. It has revealed to me aspects of the sacred that I was not aware of, but it is too early for me to talk about that in anything that doesn't resemble babble.
Go buy the Oliver book. You won't regret it.
And I don't want to violate her copyright, but I do want to offer the shortest poem in the book. It spoke directly to me.
The Uses of Sorrow
In my sleep I dreamed this poem
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.