Peonies - A Poem By Mary Oliver
I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, where they were talking about a poem that one of the podcasters loves about peonies. I loved the way that Mary Oliver describes the way that the peonies “bend their bright bodies and tip their fragrance to the air, and rise, their red stems holding.” These lines really spoke to me about the peonies. I can just imagine peonies out in a field, at sunset, with the light bouncing off of them and their soft fragrance gently in the air.
I have loved pink peonies for a long time, they are so decadent and the petals are so full, soft and beautiful! I had wanted to photograph a peony for so long, don’t ask me why I never did before because there was no real reason, and last year I finally picked some up! They were just as wonderful as I imagined and expected them to be!
Well, you know me, just having photographed them when they were living wasn’t enough for me! I saved those beautiful flowers, dried them, and put them away until I could photograph them for the series Growing Old. While we have all been home, in quarantine, I pulled out many of the dried peonies and photographed them. Plumage is the result of that photography session!
It makes me long for peonies this year and question if we will be seeing them in grocery stores when we venture out.
Enjoy this beautiful poem and, if you have time, tell me what your favorite part was as well.
Peonies by Mary Oliver
This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?
from New And Selected Poems by Mary Oliver
© Mary Oliver
