My Mary Oliver Poem #2: "While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the Meadowlark Begins to Sing"

  

"While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the Meadowlark Begins to Sing"

Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds, the trees  in deep, moist summer,

daisies and morning glories opening every morning

their small ecstatic faces--Or maybe I should just say

how I wish I had a voice like the meadowlark's,

sweet, clear, and reliably slurring all day long

from the fencepost, or the long grass where it lives

in a tiny but adequate grass hut beside the mullein and the everlasting,

the faint-pink roses that have never been improved, but come to bud

then open like little soft sighs under the meadowlark's whistle, its breath-praise,

its thrill song, its anthem, its thanks, its alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord. 

- Mary Oliver

This poem rang in my memory as I glanced through the entirety of Owls and Other Fantasies. The imagery presented had my mind in dream land, picturing a fresh summer morning, the dew on the grass, the sun peaking out from the horizon as the birds sing good morning to the slumbered world. I thought of home, in the forest, and those summer mornings. I thought of my mom's flowers in her garden that grows every summer, and their bright colors. While we have meadowlarks in New Jersey, I was reminded of the robins and cardinals that fly through the forest, and the morning squawks from the crows. I was transported back to the quiet summer mornings on my deck overlooking the hardwood and oak trees that tower above the forest floor, the only sounds being of squirrels and chipmunks crunching the leaves below. The peace of home amongst the nature. What struck me most of this poem is Oliver's last line, "its thrill song, its anthem, its thanks, its alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord." I often marvel at nature, and the beauty of creation, and sing praises like the meadowlark "Alleluia, oh Lord." In nature, I see the beauty and love of God reflected. In every painted sunrise or sunset, in rock formations that produce awe and wonder, in miles of untouched wilderness, in the petals of delicate flowers, I stand enthralled at the wonders of God's creation and cannot help but to sing His praises.