A review by casparb
American Primitive by Mary Oliver

splendid Mary she's often cast as a poet of joy I find but of course odd solemnities seem to intrude it seems a kind of terror. Appeared to me there's grief but awareness of it and amazement at it - extraordinarily rare cocktail for a poet to be working with and part of what makes her special beyond her fantastic ear & control of the line. Perhaps a grief from not being already-enmeshed within each element of the natural but amazement at being able to perceive it