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Rating: 
Summary: A bittersweet taste of life
Review:
I received this small, but powerful book of poetry as a gift from a lifelong friend after the death of my mother. My friend wanted to express more than she found in a sympathy card and felt that this poet could bring me comfort, would speak to my soul. I have only now been able to read it.
In "Flare" I read:
"May they sleep well. May they soften." I can allow my mother to leave without rage. Later, I can release her from worldly obligations:
"But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
I will not give them responsibility for my life."
In words as soft as rose petals or the touch of a baby's cheek, Oliver invokes images that lighten the burdens of life, but tempered with reality, as quietly powerful as a balled fist. Oliver views everything around her from inside nature's world, where the dictates are profoundly simple, where lessons abound for the observant. As a guide, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author is sensitive to the reality of nature's cycles, the interconnectedness of all that surrounds us.
In "Gravel", I found my own thought spoken:
"This is the poem of goodbye.
And this is the poem of I don't know."
Filled with beginnings and endings, I found myself thinking about the world more thoughtfully, grateful for its idiosyncratic beauty and finely wrought perfection, for its ability to guide birth, death and rebirth, a continuum of all life. "Maybe the real world, without us,/ is the real poem."(From the Book of Time) Luan Gaines/2005.
Rating: 
Summary: Breathtaking
Review: As always, Mary Oliver's poetry simply takes my breath away. It is at the same time bound to earth and ethereal. She seems to be contemplating mortality, as well as the wonder of life as we live. Although one long poem, each stanza is a poem unto itself, each word a butterfly in your window.
Rating:
Summary: Profoundly Moving
Review: I have to admit that I am in love with Mary Oliver's poetry. She is not only a master writer but seeing the world through her eyes is like looking through a prism of nature only to discover how the various parts of our humanity are reflected outside of ourselves. Be patient, a poem is short but not something to be read in haste. Any good poem like this one requires at least two readings to allow the metaphors and images to seep into the depths of our being. Further, some good poetry is only clever while great poetry such as this miniature epic, is for the heart, working its magic by slowly catching us unaware as it lifts us up -- like a leaf or a cloud, or both together --- and in the end gently leaving us off somewhere refreshingly new, a place where we are offhandedly aware of having experienced the breadth and nobility of our inner self. (Isn't that the highest calling of all great art?). It is Mary Oliver's only epic work where somehow all the poems relate to each other but not as a plot or continuous story, but more like all the elements in a wild mountain meadow or a forested glen are perceived as relating to each other. Once beginning to read it from the first page, you will soon find yourself hypnotically drawn to its completion about 30 or 45 minutes later. If you are a Mary Oliver fan, don't look for individual poetic gems such as White Cloud or Wild Geese (they are there but less obvious to allow the whole to emerge. After writing this review on a slightly overcast summer saturday morning, I feel the gentle urge to return to the coziness of my bed and read it over again.
Rating:
Summary: Miss Mary Oliver, how does your garden grow?
Review: I'm sorry, but Mary begs the immediate response. When I opened the book and read the first line, "Welcome to the silly comforting poem" all I could think was: "Oh, Mary, what are you up to?" Mary Oliver is a writer that I have been reading for years. Every book. Every poem. And at around the last book I got to thinking, "How long is she going to be able to keep this up?" (Mary goes outside. Mary has a revelation. etc.) In fact the last time I read through "New and Selected" I discovered I wasn't much interested any more. And it hurt. Because I am (an unfashionable and sometimes secret) in love with Mary Oliver's poems. So when the new book came out I waited surreptitiously for weeks until no one was looking, then I snuck into a bookstore, bought a book and hid in my coat as I hurried back to work, I wedged the book into a magazine so no one could see what I was reading and--- And. Mary did it. She did it. She went to the next place. Mary transcends--but it's not just a beautiful book (a beautiful, bautiful book), it's a smart book--it references (the ones I could figure out) Plato, Shelley, Whitman, Emerson-- The jacket cover calls it "astonishing"--I don't know if it is "astonishing" so much as it is deeply "questioning"--something Mary Oliver has done very well in some of her work. This book is a love letter to anyone who once got tired of Mary Oliver. This book is a love letter to anyone who's never read Mary Oliver. I guess it's the biggest kind of love letter for someone who *never* got tired of Mary Oliver. Whichever you are, I say get your hands on it. It's tasty.
Rating:
Summary: Heaven in a wildflower.
Review: Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets. (I recommend her NEW AND SELECTED POEMS (1993).) Although I could easily praise this new book of poems all day, I will keep my comments short. Oliver has taken the title of this book from John Ruskin, who wrote: "Between the earth and man arose the leaf. Between the heaven and man came the cloud. His life being partly as the falling leaf, and partly as the flying vapour." This reference is helpful, I think, in showing that Oliver's seven-poem progression is as much a meditation on the wonders of the natural world ("Everyday--I stare at the world; I push the grass aside/ and stare at the world," p. 9), as it is a profound prayer ("I look up/ into the faces of the stars,/ into their deep silence" p. 44). Oliver is not the first poet to observe "heaven in a wildflower," but she has the unique ability to find poetry in nature. "What secrets fly out of the earth/ when I push the shovel-edge/ when I heave the dirt open?" (p. 21). She also writes, "It may be the rock in the field is also a song" (p. 14), and "maybe the world, without us,/ is the real poem" (p. 17). The poetry Oliver witnesses in the natural world is synonymous with God's presence. Through nature's beauty and mystery, Oliver discovers "If God exists he isn't just butter and good luck--/ he isn't just the summer day the red rose/ he's the snake he's the mouse,/ he's the hole in the ground" (p. 50). The poetry here is earthy yet spiritual, simple yet profound. "Words are thunders of the mind" (p. 12). In addition to Ruskin and Blake, there are echoes of Whitman, Emerson, and Plato in these poems. This may be the best book of new poems I've read this year. It is also a good starting point for anyone who has never experienced the pleasures of poetry before. G. Merritt
Rating:
Summary: Heaven in a wildflower.
Review: Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets. (I recommend her NEW AND SELECTED POEMS (1993).) Although I could easily praise this new book of poems all day, I will keep my comments short. Oliver has taken the title of this book from John Ruskin, who wrote: "Between the earth and man arose the leaf. Between the heaven and man came the cloud. His life being partly as the falling leaf, and partly as the flying vapour." This reference is helpful, I think, in showing that Oliver's seven-poem progression is as much a meditation on the wonders of the natural world ("Everyday--I stare at the world; I push the grass aside/ and stare at the world," p. 9), as it is a profound prayer ("I look up/ into the faces of the stars,/ into their deep silence" p. 44). Oliver is not the first poet to observe "heaven in a wildflower," but she has the unique ability to find poetry in nature. "What secrets fly out of the earth/ when I push the shovel-edge/ when I heave the dirt open?" (p. 21). She also writes, "It may be the rock in the field is also a song" (p. 14), and "maybe the world, without us,/ is the real poem" (p. 17). The poetry Oliver witnesses in the natural world is synonymous with God's presence. Through nature's beauty and mystery, Oliver discovers "If God exists he isn't just butter and good luck--/ he isn't just the summer day the red rose/ he's the snake he's the mouse,/ he's the hole in the ground" (p. 50). The poetry here is earthy yet spiritual, simple yet profound. "Words are thunders of the mind" (p. 12). In addition to Ruskin and Blake, there are echoes of Whitman, Emerson, and Plato in these poems. This may be the best book of new poems I've read this year. It is also a good starting point for anyone who has never experienced the pleasures of poetry before. G. Merritt
Rating:
Summary: "Shaking Free"
Review: Mary Oliver's poetry takes away the breath and gives back breath; quickens the pulse and slows it; prays beside the need of the reader; opens most everything. This work, in particular, epic; enduring.
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