Of the Empire
by: Mary Oliver
We will be known as a culture that feared death
and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
for the few and cared little for the penury of the
many. We will be known as a culture that taught
and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
little if at all about the quality of life for
people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All
the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
commodity. And they will say that this structure
was held together politically, which it was, and
they will say also that our politics was no more
than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
was small, and hard, and full of meanness.
Yeah, Oliver is a little pissed. I've been writing about her and her poetry for six months now, and today is the first time that I can say that. This is an angry poem.
Of course, she has every right to be mad. Look at the inventory of mistakes and greed she provides. Human beings fear death and adore power. We care more about the welfare of the wealthy than the deprivations of the poor. We amass things and ignore the quality of life of fellow planet travelers, dogs, and rivers. And we put price tags on everything with hearts that are small little fists of meanness.
That's a pretty damning list. Some of my disciples may take issue with a few of Oliver's assertions (or all of them). That's okay. You don't have to agree with her. That's the beauty of living in a society governed by freedom of speech. People have the right to say and think the dumbest or smartest shit they want. I'm totally down with that.
It is around 9 p.m. Outside, the temperature is still 77 degrees. All of my lilac bushes are blooming. I'm surrounded by purple sweetness. If I were Mary Oliver, I wouldn't be typing this blog post. I'd be standing in my backyard, basking in these first days of summer, listening to the peepers screaming in the dusk. I may still do that.
Because that's what Mary would do. When she felt discouraged or sad or disappointed with humanity, she turned to things that couldn't disappoint her: her dogs, Blackwater Pond, meadowlarks, rivers, poetry. No politics here. Or accumulation of wealth. Or greed. Just nature doing what it needs to do in order to survive.
We suck at taking care of the world. We've proven that, over and over, throughout history. That's not misanthropic. That's just plain truth, and that's Oliver's message tonight. If you have a problem with this poem, then you're probably part of the problem and not the solution.
Please excuse Saint Marty now. He's got some lilacs to smell.
Yeah......
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