dramas of nature, her later writings became far more personal and direct. As she
put it to Maria Shriver, she had determined to be “more honest and brave” about
her life.
In spite of—or perhaps partly because of—her popular success, Oliver was
never really accepted by a certain element of the literary establishment. Her
romantic depictions of nature and her steadfast emphasis on joy were read as
naïve, regarded as more the stuff of the inspirational poster than anything for
serious academic consideration. In truth, however, a close reading of her work
reveals many dark threads woven among the light: her keen eye does not miss
predation, death and decay. Her 1986 collection Dream Work makes these
themes most explicit, with poems that explore the dark side of humanity, as well
as the destructive face of the natural world. In it we find her bleakest reflections
on existence, as in “The Shark”, where God is pictured “... ponderously lifting
another world, /setting it free to spin, if it can, /in a darkness you can’t imagine.”
If her ultimate message is overwhelmingly a redemptive one, it is a redemption
wrung from the depths of great personal pain, albeit suffering of which we are
permitted only indirect glimpses. It is probably for that reason that many of her
most ardent fans come from the ranks of those with similar stories—people in
recovery from abuse, the alienated and misunderstood who hear in the song of
her poetry the possibility of hope and belonging. Mary Oliver was, by her own
definition, a “praise poet”: a voice raised in praise of creation. Yet it was not a
voice that denied or overlooked darkness. On the contrary, she knew the dark
night of the soul all too well, and, in the end, had chosen to live.
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