[Edward Zuk]

Wow. I came home from work and am delighted to see that the collected wisdom of the Sphere has come through.

Thanks to everyone who replied. I see that I will have to look more carefully at Mary Oliver’s work, or at least her early work. The poem linked to by Michael is better than the others I’ve seen by her, but even there the clichéd ending about letting what you love go free is disappointing. Wendell Berry sounds very intriguing, and I’ll have to look up the half dozen poets whose names are new to me.

I know the work of Heaney and Walcott and think of their voices as having been formed much earlier, even though both wrote well until near the end of their lives. I see that Walcott’s White Egrets is well thought of.

What I’m hoping is that someone will point me to newer emerging poets who are writing (or have the potential to write) the Tintern Abbey or Cooper’s Hill of our age.

For context, I love the work of Amy Clampitt, and poems like The Cormorant in its Element and The Winter Bird are truly great. My favourite nature poem by hers is A Hermit Thrush, with its view of nature as constantly wounded and patching itself and making do. The nature poem with the greatest influence on me, though, is Corsons Inlet by A.R. Ammons, with its view of nature as ever-changing and defying categorization. It’s a view of nature as chaos theory and a poetics at the same time.

It bothered me that I couldn’t name any poems from the last 20 years that have affected me in that way, and that I was ignorant of what’s happening now. So thank-you for your suggestions, and I hope that the recommendations will keep coming.

[Michael F]

Edward, I've always read that poem as being about mortality and death, and the vital necessity of loving what must die. I don't think she's parroting the "if you love something, set it free..." saying. To me she's going rather deeper. Of course that may be my own peculiar reading.

Regardless, I also very much like this thread. Glad you started it.

M

[John Isbell]

I also think the Oliver poem is about loving what must die; and I also found that ending rather predictable and underwhelming. Sorry. I seem to recall finding other poems of hers very fresh.

Cheers,
John

[Michael F]

No need to apologize, John.

As they say on Wall Street, "That's what makes markets."

[John Isbell]

:-)

Nice quote.

Cheers,
John

[Julie Steiner]

The best-crafted and most emotionally affecting nature poems I've read in the past few years are in two collections published by Alex Pepple's Able Muse Press:

All the Wasted Beauty of the World by Richard Newman

Greed: A Confession by D.R. Goodman

Neither book presents a traditionally romantic, pastoral view of nature. Newman often explores reassertions of the natural world within areas of urban decay (usually in or near St. Louis, MO); Goodman often explores the interface between development and wildlands (Oakland, CA, and elsewhere).

I'm aware that these approaches to nature are probably not to everyone's taste, but I find both inspiring. Here are one poem from each book:

Richard Newman, "Alley Possum"

Fellow urbanite, how could your race
survive—convinced I can't see you this close,
hunched next to our back porch, your grinning face
hidden behind a bag of Ranch Doritos.
In our next-door neighbor's headlights, your eyes shine
Heineken green, and you keep eating, heedless.
You forage in the cracks of our lives and dine
on our debris, jaws crammed with infected needles.
By day you play dead in a dumpster—poke
you with a stick, and your whole being explodes.
Primordially stupid, tireless joke,
you waddle down the shoulders of our roads,
loot gardens, lie in our bed of impatiens,
finding the hidden gaps in our foundations.

D.R. Goodman, "Owls in the City Hills"

[Susan McLean]

I'm glad for the reminder from Julie about Goodman's book, which is excellent and does focus a lot on nature.

Susan