New and Seleced Poems by Mary Oliver

B. bought me this book of poems when he did the STP race last year. We stayed the Sunday (?) after the race and then spent the next day at the Chinese Garden and walking around Portland.

I love the town; it is like Seattle used to be, before it was pretentious. I almost moved there in 2000-2001 to teach Japanese (of all things). I wonder what my life would have been like had I moved then?
~~~~~~~~~

I love May Oliver.

For a poet, I feel she has talent that is rare these days. What most affected me is that B. bought me this book, because he knew I liked Mary Oliver--and for no other reason.

I once wrote about one of my all-time favorite poems, Wild Geese, on the blog before we were in a committed relationship. I don't know if he knew that the poem made me think of him.

What I love about B.-and what simultaneously frustrates the hell out of me-- is that he does not fixate on words; action is more important.

Where does that leave me? How can language and words have more weight than what's before me? Where did everything become so black and white for me?

One of my favorite--and most challenging--professors says that people who have early-life trauma can be overly influenced by language. I know that I am. But, I'm also a writer. Each word means something very specific to me. Each word has a nuance, a meaning, and a particular connotation.

One of my closest friends--though I have not seen her in forever-- is a writer. One day she said to me, having never read my poems, that she knows why I'm a poet--that I notice the smallest details. She loves to write--and actually writes a hundred times more than what I have done in the last ten years, but the writing she loves is ...fiction. Not poetry.

I have written so little personal material lately. And B.'s endeavours have inspired me to write--for real-- for the first time in more than a decade. But I'm still not really writing. Sure, I've had to write a ton of papers. And, I have done a number of work projects. But, for me, that is easy. It's interesting, the most personal papers are the hardest for me. If it's just something academic--or just something for business (If I am removed), I could almost do it in my sleep. It's a million years removed from therapy, where to be successful, I need to bring Msyelfsyelf.

wn views on the world--are more of a challenge for me. Sometimes I think, thank God that I did not go to Seattle U. or UW, which both have very strong psych. programs. They would not challenge me at all--nor would they help me really form as an individual or confront my values and place in this world.

I am grateful to be exactly where I am.