Upstream: Selected Essays
4.7 4.7 out of 5 stars | 2,289 ratings
Price: 21.84
Last update: 09-10-2024
About this item
The New York Times bestselling collection of essays from beloved poet Mary Oliver, also named one of O, The Oprah Magazine’s Ten Best Books of the Year, now in audio.
“I had to go out into the world and see it and hear it and react to it, before I knew at all who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be.”
So begins Upstream, a collection of essays in which revered poet Mary Oliver reflects on her willingness to lose herself within the beauty and mysteries of the natural world and the world of literature. Emphasizing the significance of her childhood “friend” Walt Whitman, who inspired her to vanish into the world of her own writing, Oliver meditates on the forces that allowed her to create a life for herself out of work and love.
Upstream follows Oliver as she contemplates the pleasure of artistic labor, her boundless curiosity for the flora and fauna that surround her, and the responsibility she has inherited from Shelley, Wordsworth, Emerson, Poe, and Frost, the great thinkers and writers of the past, to live thoughtfully, intelligently, and to observe with passion. Throughout this collection, Oliver positions not just herself upstream but us as well—as she encourages us all to keep moving, to lose ourselves in the awe of the unknown, and to give power and time to the creative and whimsical urges that live within us.
Narrated by poets Hala Alyan, Joy Sullivan, and Kate Baer
Top reviews from the United States
"Dear Bear, it's no use, the world is like that. So stay where you are, and live long. Someday maybe we'll wise up and remember what you were: hopeless ambassador of a world that returns now only in poet's dreams."
"The best use of literature bends not toward the narrow and the absolute," she says, "But to the extravagant and the possible. Answers are no part of it; rather, it is the opinions, the rhapsodic persuasions, the engrafted logics, the clues that are to the mind of the reader the possible keys to his own self-quarrels, his own predicament" (69). A poetic description of reading if ever I've read one. She continues in the same paragraph, of Emerson: "The one thing he is adamant about is that we should look [at things for ourselves]--we must look--for that is the liquor of life, that brooding upon issues, that attention to thought even as we weed the garden or milk the cow" (69).
Observations like the one above abound in Oliver's work, and I would put her nature reflections on par with Emerson or Thoreau, though not as earth-shattering (pun intended) as their writings were for their time. As she says in her writing "Let me be who I am, and then some," she certainly offers who she is, and then some. I, as her reader, am thankful for the experience.
Extra note: She once built a small house in her back yard for $3.58 using scrap lumber and found materials. I find this incredibly inspiring.
At one point in the book, Mary Oliver describes her enthusiastic approach to building (by her own hand) a small home, without the accompanying carpentry skills. Her description of the end result serves as a metaphor for this collection of essays. Individually, some are beautiful and worthy. Together, they don't build a structure that makes much sense to me.
I also take issue with Oliver's contention that artists must be totally devoted to their art, and not distracted by "social" demands. This is exactly the way entitled men have staked their claim as artists (or professors, or most other professions) for centuries. Their wives or sisters or daughters were expected to take care of daily needs of family and friends and cleaning and cooking while men devoted themselves to their "important" pursuits behind closed doors - not to be disturbed.
Somehow, so many women have managed to be true artists despite these multiple claims on their time. I would even suggest that had Oliver attended a bit more to the social side of life, her poetry and her essays might be even better than they already are. It is dangerous to define the artist in such a narrow, exclusive way. I wish she had not done so in this book.