Hello Friends —
If you’ve been on this poem-a-day list all five years, you may have found every now and again I’ll deem a poem worthy of having you read over again a few years later, so thank you for bearing with me on the occasional repeat. One thing I don’t think I mentioned about today’s poem when I sent it to you in April 2007 is its synergy with a poem I sent you in April 2008 — I read Mary Oliver’s “small civilities” and Emily Dickinson’s “Chivalries as tiny” as closely connected.
Much like fellow Pulitzer-winner Robert Frost, Mary Oliver is often pigeon-holed as a “nature poet,” when in fact some of her most intriguing works take place within manmade walls. “Anne” appears in Oliver’s 1972 collection The River Styx, and is also included in her New and Selected Poems (1992). Thanks again to Molly for introducing me to this poem.
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Enjoy.
Ellen
Anne
The daughter is mad, and so
I wonder what she will do.
But she holds her saucer softly
And sips, as people do,
From moment to moment making
Comments of rain and sun,
Till I feel my own heart shaking —
Till I am the frightened one.
O Anne, sweet Anne, brave Anne,
What did I think to see?
The rumors of the village
Have painted you savagely.
I thought you would come in anger —
A knife beneath your skirt.
I did not think to see a face
So peaceful, and so hurt.
I know the trouble is there,
Under your little frown;
But when you slowly lift your cup
And when you set it down,
I feel my heart go wild, Anne,
I feel my heart go wild.
I know a hundred children,
But never before a child
Hiding so deep a trouble
Or wanting so much to please,
Or tending so desperately all
The small civilities.
“Anne” by Mary Oliver was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 9, 2007.