I’ve never really liked poetry. As a kid, there was nothing more disappointing than finding a book that lured me in with its synopsis only to crack it open and find it was, in fact, written in verse. Mostly, I think it was just more difficult to find the escapism I was looking for when reading poetry. Something about the broken up lines and spoken cadence just didn’t appeal to me, no matter how moving the intricate metaphors and carefully crafted it might’ve been. This isn’t to say I’ve never been moved by a poem—my Pinterest is proof otherwise—I just have never gone out of my way seeking it.
I don’t know if I would call it a shift, but recently, I’ve been finding more comfort in poetry than usual, or even ever before. I don’t scroll as quickly when poetry finds its way onto my feed and I’ve found myself even considering books written in verse, and other non-traditional formats(though I have yet to make the actual plunge). This could be accredited to a number of different personal variables, but I feel any explanation other than the true aptitude of the poets is a disfavor.
There’s one poem explicitly that’s achieved what I once thought was impossible, and has somehow followed me through the passage of time and remained in bold, “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver. The first time I came across this poem was, unbelievably, in March 2023 when it was recited by Gracie Abrams in Charlotte, North Carolina during a VIP Soundcheck Experience. Most of Oliver’s appreciable work has centered around the human experience: love, loss, joy and beyond. It’s her ability to create parallels of sensitive emotions with nature and the environment, spinning words and verse into digestible, but still hard hitting analogies. What once might’ve been a mundane aspect of the background of everyday life is suddenly a new perspective on a feeling you thought had never been put into words previously.
There are so many lines from “Wild Geese” that I could stick in here and explain why it’s become so relevant and timely for me—truthfully, it’d probably be all of them. While I’ve already shared a few of my thoughts on poetry, I’ll add another: It’s important to leave things up to interpretation. One line for me might prompt a new perspective, while for you it’s further validation of a feeling you already suspected. My favorite line in a piece might be the one that resonated with you the least. We could have conflicting thoughts on what the overarching theme is. But isn’t this what poetry, and all writing, is supposed to do? All these disagreements and discourse are just further proof of the diversity in the human experience; poetry just helps us bridge this gap to find similarity in our distinctiveness.Â
Nonetheless, there is one line I’d like to highlight.Â
“Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,Â
are heading home again.Â
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,Â
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –Â
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
I don’t know if I can ever find full escapism in poetry, but perhaps just a small glimpse with one poem here and there is still enough and worthwhile to keep looking for.Â