
A Poem for Autumn
We leisurely walked hand in hand through the golden light, enjoying the spectacular yellows and coppers and crimsons.
“It’s just like Mary Oliver said!”
“Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment”
I loved quoting my favorite autumn poem.
You stopped and pulled me into your arms. “She wasn’t just talking about autumn,” you said gently. “Remember the fires and the black river of loss.“
“Whose other side is salvation,” I continued.
“Whose meaning none of us will ever know,” you concluded.
“She’s talking about autumn,” I insisted.
“My dearest love, she’s talking about death.” I could see you wanted to elaborate, but I put my finger on your lips to silence you.
We made our way home to a light supper and a warm embrace. You were tired and went on up to bed; I researched the poem on the Internet. Most of the readers agreed with me – the first lines were about the glories of autumn. Not only trees as pillars of light, but cattails bursting over the “blue shoulders of the ponds”. Such colors, such energy, such a celebration of life! I finally shut off the computer, resolving to share all this joyfulness with you the next morning.
But there was no next morning for us. You died peacefully in your sleep that night.
Now, on another autumn afternoon I walk alone, pondering golden trees and bursting cattails and the black river of loss. I stop at the very place where you took me in your arms as if to say goodbye. I fling your ashes over the leaf-strewn pathway, and the last lines of the poem pour over me in all their sorrowful wisdom:
“To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”
I listen to the silence, then take the long way home.
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This is so beautiful Julie. It touched my heart. Thank you for introducing me to ‘In Blackwater Woods’. This is a poem and a story I will read over and over again.
Hello Linda – I envy you reading “In Blackwater Woods” for the first time. Mary Oliver is very possibly my favorite poet. She speaks of natural beauty and cycles of life and always relates everything back to the human experience. All her poems are, to me, soul work. The last part of “In Blackwater Woods”, what you must do to live in this world, has been my guide for many years now. Another wonderful autumn poem of hers is “Wild Geese”. Enjoy! And thanks for appreciating my story.
I love the last part, those words are certainly those to live by. I now look forward to reading ‘Wild Geese’. Autumn is my favourite season.
Your combined poem and story are very moving. Thanks for introducing “In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver. It is my first time to read this poem, and it is really very beautiful. Well-written, Julie. Good job.
I’m so glad you enjoyed the poem, Lotchie. It’s very exciting for me to introduce my favorite poet to the wonderful writers on this club.
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This story is heartbreakingly beautiful Julie, and as it’s the last thing I’m reading before tootling off to bed, I’m likely to lie awake thinking about it for some time! Very nicely done. I haven’t read that poem, or anything by that poet, but will endeavour to do so once my NaNoWriMo commitment is complete!
Hello Carrie, and thanks for the comment. I predict that you will fall in love with Mary Oliver’s poetry. Like you, she loves nature and notices every little thing. She writes in great detail about grasshoppers, for example. Not grasshoppers in general, but one specific grasshopper, that she’s watching, much like you taking pictures of spiders and birds:
“Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.”
Then she often makes a leap to eternal questions. Her next line in the grasshopper poem is “I don’t know exactly what a prayer is”
The name of this poem is The Summer Day. I do hope you enjoy it and that your NaNoWriMo commitment goes well!
Thank you, Julie, for this wonderful introduction to Mary Oliver and her poetry. I love your story about the couple, gently quarreling about the deepest meaning of the poem, only for her soon to experience that part of the interpretation turns into harsh reality. The last part brings it all together in a brilliant way. Great writing!
Julie, I agree with Carrie, this is so beautiful and the kind of story that will stay with you and will make you lie awake at night wondering about it. I haven’t read any of Mary Oliver’s poems yet, but from your story it sounds like they are meaningful poems with valuable lessons. I like the last paragraph of the poem you have used in your story. I can see why she is your favourite poet! Great story.