52 Books in 52 Weeks, it's called. The challenge is simple: read a book every week for a year.
40. New and selected poems, volume one.
I think Vol. 2 was a more overall satisfying experience. But not because these aren’t as good. These stretch back, I assume, to her earliest work, which is – well, early. And they’re arranged in reverse chronological order, so the confident later work, with its settled focus on the joy inherent in the celebration of the natural world, is less and less in evidence, till at the end of the volume Oliver treats all the usual subjects — death, her interior life, Myth, nature, childhood — in tentative ways. Not that those earlier poems aren’t good, they’re just still casting about for a steady voice. One thing that Oliver does exceedingly well is stick the landing: the last line or two is always exquisite, especially as she ages. Both of these books, I want them on my shelf, to return to.
