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Mary Oliver, who died in 2019, is among the most widely-read poets in the world today. Her words bring comfort and joy to millions, but these things were hard-won for her. She experienced neglect and abuse as a child, and went on to live a reclusive life as an adult, generally preferring the company of trees and animals to humans (the exception being her beloved partner of 40 years, photographer MOlly Malone Cook). Her poems reveal long struggles with despair alongside deep rapture in the natural world, which may explain why she seems to light such an honest path through dark times for many readers. After all, there’s something special about the kind of joy we experience after, or even alongside, sadness. It is more keenly felt and more precious. It reminds us that “life has some possibility left”. The run up to Christmas can feel such a tender time with the cultural insistence on merriment making many feel lonely or inadequate. Mary Oliver would have refused any forced joviality. She said no to almost every social engagement, as well as to many basic material comforts, in order to devote herself to her poetic calling. She had no interest in convention nor in forms of joy that are exacted or bought. But as this poem shows, she considered it almost a moral duty to embrace the true joy that catches us off-guard, as if it were checking our hearts are always open for its fleeting and unexpected visits. Paying attention to the world was a sacred matter for Oliver. She began every morning standing outside her door with her notebook open just listening to the wind and the birds. And every day, she wrote, “I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight.” As we light today’s candle, let’s follow her example and simply say “I am open to joy.” Sophie ✨
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