★★★ 3.5 Stars
Genre: Contemporary Poetry
Publication Date: October 11th, 2012
A Thousand Mornings – as sweet, as gentle as the rustle of lavender in a spring’s breeze, arm in arm with nature and its delicacy fine as webs.
Reminiscent and nature-inspired poetry can be a hit-or-miss game for me. They can be the opening of an emotional drain, or they can be the brew of sappy cliché in place of any real feeling.
Oliver’s work leans toward the former, though it’s not an emotional punch, but rather a waft of sensitivity that rises and falls like the winds. It’s never poorly written. It does get repetitive in its fervor for forests.
To tell you the truth, I was drawn in by the fogged ambience of the cover. Extremely fitting, the cover is. While not my all-time favourite, Mornings evokes a similar, beautiful feeling. I suppose you could call it “purity”. It feels like clean waters pooled beneath a mountain, somehow bottled into words.
- “Oh the house of denial has thick walls and very small windows, and whoever lives there, little by little, will turn to stone.”
- “As long as you’re dancing, you can break the rules. Sometimes breaking the rules is just extending the rules. Sometimes there are no rules.”
- “For some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me.”
- “And therefore who would cry out to the petals on the ground to stay, knowing as we must, how the vivacity of what was is married to the vitality of what will be? I don’t say it’s easy, but what else will do if the love one claims to have for the world be true?”