Ever since my high school creative writing teacher Ms. Staley introduced me to Mary Oliver's poetry, I have been a big fan. I believe there is a bit of magic that happens when connecting with a writer for the first time. The words resonate deep within us and perhaps a nodding of the head ensues. Then afterwards we seek more of their books or essays. It's really a beautiful thing.
To celebrate poetry month, here is a favourite poem:
by Mary Oliver
Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive
strikes me from sleep, and I rise
from the comfortable bed and go
to another room, where my books are lined up
in their neat and colorful rows. How
magical they are! I choose one
and open it. Soon
I have wandered in over the waves of the words
to the temple of thought.
And then I hear
outside, over the actual waves, the small,
perfect voice of the loon. He is also awake,
and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out
to the fading moon, to the pink flush
swelling in the east that, soon,
will become the long, reasonable day.
Inside the house
it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight
in which I am sitting.
I do not close the book.
Neither, for a long while, do I read on.
Manahattan by Cat Power
Step by Vampire Weekend