Response to Contemporary Nature Poetry

As my understanding of craft grows, I find that my appreciation for different types of poetry grows as well. But that doesn’t necessarily equate to significant changes in taste. I still prefer the linear narrative, the poem that tells a story using conventional sentence structure – basically, the accessible poem. But more than that, I prefer poetry that has an accessible “moment of realization,” or a significant line (or stanza, or word, etc.) that demonstrates the writer has learned or discovered something they weren’t already looking for. I like, particularly, when the writer communicates that moment with the reader effectively – an “aha moment” if you will. I have to admit, Mary Oliver’s poetry falls into that category with a greater ease than many of the writers we read this week. (That’s not to say these poems do not have a linear narrative, or that they are lacking proper sentence structure, or that they do not have an “aha moment). Admittedly, while I typically find something in a poem that resonates with me, something that I can grab hold of as a point of entry, I did have some difficulty with several of these selections. There are, however, a few I enjoyed. I’ll give brief examples, here, of both.

Rogers “The Hummingbird: A Seduction” is just that, a seduction. She uses the small birds as a symbol of human interaction, a sensual erotic kind of ritual, an attraction occurring in nature that mirrors the human connection. And while I had some difficulty in recognizing its greater significance, I recognize that my failure doesn’t mean that one does not exist.

W. S. Merwin’s “The Last One” is somewhat dense in its construction. The lines are all end stopped and often a single line contains what seems like more than one thought (I have no doubt this is purposeful, but I do not have a good explanation as to why). I found it hard to enter this poem and could not get a grasp on its narrative, which left its importance a greater mystery (are we talking about the last tree that stands, its shadow will remain forever a stain on the existence of its takers?). That said, “For A Coming Extinction” is a strong piece, but still not easily understood – there seems to be an agenda here – humans are a selfish breed, whose acts in aiding the extinction of other species are somehow sacrificial. The problem is I feel like I’ve got this all wrong.

“This Morning in Costa Rica” seems to be a moment of realization in its entirety, recognizing the bats’ selfless act as poem-like, a giving to the few as an act of community health. I felt like this poem touched an important nerve in the body of nature writing.

James Wright’s selections were of a more accessible nature. All of which, however, seem to demonstrate the narrator’s coming closer to nature by observing some small act of wildness.

Sheryl St. Germain’s poetry carried a greater accessibility, I felt, than most. “Big Fish” speaks of those “that have once tasted the hook” and have grown from their failures into wiser swimmers, who know how better to navigate their world, turning their mistakes into learning, their learning into life. This poem and others make use of the natural world to explore aspects of the human condition that cannot be summed up in an easy manner. The narrator in “Why I Went into the Jungle” does so to immerse herself in something that she doesn’t fully understand, something dangerous and dark – an act that she hopes (or rather deeply believes) will make her more knowledgeable in doing. In short, sometimes to truly learn something is to take a risk, let go of your fear and jump in head first.

My readings here may be somewhat flawed, but the risk, I hope, will be worth the reward. It is often through question and criticism that we learn to best appreciate something. By criticizing a few of these poems, I am really only criticizing my reading. I like to think that I’ve evolved my critical reading skills enough, at the very least, to understand that I’m not going to “get” or appreciate everything. Just as the folk singer doesn’t necessarily appreciate heavy metal, every poet isn’t going to appreciate every other poet’s work. There is a point in a writer’s life where they must recognize their own shortcomings before they can work to overcome them. Like the flower that, only through its lack of nutrients, discovers the things it needs (soil, sun and water) to reach its true potential. I am not against enjoying the poems I initially did not. Hopefully, with a little help, I will learn to. And since blossom ends so many poems, let’s just say I am open to the notion of the sky.