It turns out that I am one of those people you ought not to lend books to because they don't come back. I feel badly about this, and it may become one of those New Year's resolutions I may attempt in 2012.Dear David lent me a volume of Mary Oliver's poems, and didn't get it back for almost 3 months. I devoured poor Mary in my customary manner, wiping tears away at work and trying not to look ridiculous. I don't know how I never knew about her, but no matter. I know now. I will never meet her in this life, but I hope to in the next--I fantasize that we could be friends, talking about dogs and snakes. I bet she'd get along swimmingly with Willa Cather.
I got to hear Mary Oliver read some of her poems on a radio program last night, and fell in love afresh. She read this poem about her dog, Percy:
Our new dog, named for the beloved poet,
ate a book which unfortunately we had
left unguarded.
Fortunately, it was the Bhagavad Gita,
of which many copies are available.
Every day now, as Percy grows
into the beauty of his life, we touch
his wild, curly head and say,
ate a book which unfortunately we had
left unguarded.
Fortunately, it was the Bhagavad Gita,
of which many copies are available.
Every day now, as Percy grows
into the beauty of his life, we touch
his wild, curly head and say,
"Oh, wisest of little dogs."
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