I'm dancing back and forth today, flitting among several projects because some days this seems to work best. But I just realized that I hadn't read today's The Writer's Almanac entry as I normally do each morning and alas, now have an acute case of writer envy. The cause? Mary Oliver, who else?

Herons in Winter in the Frozen Marsh
by Mary Oliver

All winter
two blue herons
hunkered in the frozen marsh,
like two columns of blue smoke.

Find the rest of this lovely, lovely poem at The Writer's Almanac. Note: Today's poem is written by John Berryman, the Oliver poem is from December 27, 2009

“I would say that there exists a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves—we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together. We are each other’s destiny.” Mary Oliver, Winter Hours

Dawn is breaking and the day is supposed to bring showers with snow in the mountains and apparently in towns in the higher elevations there is danger of collapsing roofs. I’m reminded of a particularly snowy winter in northern Wisconsin where my parents live and my mother reporting that my father was up on roof on snow removal duty and that particular winter “your father’s spending more time on the roof than on the ground.”

Well, I was planning on going out tonight to hear local writers, but I woke up with a cold so think I’m about done celebrating my birthday, since it’s been going on since Friday night. On Friday night I started the celebration with a friend at a small concert at Music Millennium, a local independent music store. I hadn’t been in there in a while and there was a good crowd gathered to hear Steve Poltz, but also I was so gratified to see the bustle of people coming in and out of the store to buy CDs. In these days of music downloads and IPods and YouTube, it feels like stepping back in time to be in an independent music store replete with Rolling Stone posters and old album covers of Jimi Hendrix. And I’m grateful just as when I walk into a crowded bookstore. Because let’s pay the writer- performers for their creativity. Also, the story has little signs all over that lists the top 100 albums of all time. While I was watching Poltz perform I was standing near the B section and the Blind Faith CD was so categorized. Since I didn’t buy the CD that night I’m going to return to the store, just to wander among all the music and remember.

Anyway, although Poltz has a world wide and cult following I didn’t know much about him but was soon captivated by his writing and zaniness and heart. Well, to tell the truth, I was at first a bit worried that I wasn’t going to like him because he tends to rhyme and has recorded kids’ albums. I soon learned he was born in Halifax Nova Scotia and when he was a kid his family moved to Palm Springs which brought on a case of culture shock, go figure. He trick-or-treated at Liberace’s house, met Elvis who hugged his singer longer than necessary and was an altar boy. He moved to San Diego to attend college and formed the Rugburns an indi-rock band which began the cult following.

Apparently he is also the first person that beckoned Jewel Kilcher onto the stage at the Innerchange Coffee House in San Diego where Jewel was waitressing and Steve was playing his tunes. Together on a beach in Mexico in they wrote You Were Meant for Me which became the longest-running song on the Billboard Top 100. Poltz has performed and written other songs with her and toured as her opening act and playing in her band, and has appeared in her videos. He’s traveled all over the world performing including as a street musician and is the sort of singer-writer with a CD called Answering Machine that contains 56 songs all 45 seconds long that are outgoing messages from his home machine.

As I was listening to his lyrics I kept thinking about the poetry of songwriting and then he introduced one of his songs, The Light in Your Eyes which is about being homesick and returning home to watch the birth of his niece and breaking down crying during it. I hope this isn’t copyright infringement, but here is the chorus that wrung out my heart:

Now I’ve seen a lot of things
Huge shiny diamond rings
And I’ve seen two grown men cry
But I never saw the light
Like I did in your eyes
The light in your eyes

You can find out more about Steve at www.poltz.com.

Then last night after a dinner at Higgins I heard the poet Mary Oliver as part of Portland’s Arts & Lecture series. And it was a packed house, as in people sitting all the way up to the rafters of the bejeweled and historic Arelene Schnitzer Hall. She is now in her 70s and I was sitting above her, listening and taking in the lovely architecture of the Schnitzer with it’s filigreed walls and gorgeous lamps, with winking turquoise glass. And although Oliver looked a bit frail, her voice was strong and her wit keen, especially during the question and answer session after the reading.

Oliver is best known as a nature poet following in the footsteps of Thoreau and Whitman since her daily walks and birds, dogs, flowers and all aspects of nature appear in her poems. She brings a Zen awareness to daily life and writing and said, “looking at the world is the important part of my life,” and “every day I step out into the world to be dazzled,” and “my work is loving the world.” Her poetry seems filled with talismans and she poses questions about what this all adds up to as when she asks, “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Her poems reflect the serious questions of faith, as in "When Death Comes:"

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

Oliver’s twelfth book of poems Red Bird will be published in April. And I was thinking about how great it is to be a writer or songwriter in old age. How you can carry your gifts forth into all your years, how like Oliver, we can always be paying attention.