The Order of Things

Nature poets are rarely celebrated.

For every Frost or Whitman, there are thousands of poets whose descriptions of snow or sunrises fall on deaf ears. Mary Oliver is not one of those poets. 

She transmitted poignant descriptions of the natural world straight to the hearts of millions. As the podcast host Krista Tippett remarked, "her poems have saved lives."

But still, reading poetry if often a solitary practice. It's hard to assess the impact someone's words—written from a desk in New England—can have on others around the world. It wasn't until Oliver passed away last week that I was able to see how many souls she touched. 

Breaking from ABC tradition this week, I'm sharing a poem I wrote as a tribute to her. 

How to love in the age of Trump
After Mary Oliver's Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to read every tweet
or walk 100 miles through the streets repenting.

Your job is simply to let the soft animal of your body 
love what it loves and that is all. 

You do not have to fake love. 
You do not have to make love. 
All you must do is allow yourself to receive love,
to unfasten your mind from its conceited position
sitting atop all your thoughts,
and let your whirling anxieties 
settle down like a snow globe.

Do not let him stir you!

Meanwhile the world goes on. 
The wild geese return to their pond. 
The outdoor cats find their way home, and
the sea turtles come back to the exact same beach 
on which they were born. 

Because the geese and the cats and the turtles
don’t give a fuck about who’s in the White House. 
They have work to do, and so do you. 

Don’t waste another moment
watching the hand-wringing of the pundits,
who are still searching for the right pen 
to absolve themselves of their guilt. 

For you already know what to do. 

On the next morning you wake up and reach for your phone,
don’t let him start stealing your minutes,
your optimism, your piece of mind.

Just remember that sea otters have a pouch 
under their forearms to store their favorite rocks. 
And squirrels plant thousands of trees a year 
when they forget where they buried their acorns. 
And unborn chicks have the ability to
talk to their siblings through the shell. 

So, the next time the internet tries to tell you 
the world is an ugly place, 
just remember the rest of the world still
offers itself to your imagination. 

There is only one of Him,
and so much beauty 
you can choose to see. 
 

Warmly,
Simo

P.S. Sharing a poetic duet from the new James Blake album. 
P.P.S. Have a friend that would dig the ABC? Send 'em here.