I’m always on the lookout for new poetry, especially about nature. And while there are numerous classical authors, like Henry David Thoreau and John Keats, I find myself veering more toward modern female poets. Recently, I discovered Diane Ackerman.
With a keen interest in the natural world and human nature, Ackerman often brings both elements together in her poetry, essays, and other writings. She’s been awarded numourous prizes and awards for her work, including the Poets Prize and the Peter I.B. Lavan Award from the Academy of American Poets.
In my glamorous pouch
baby kangaroos could nestle,
but I’m built to hold water,
one ladleful per bird.
Sip, friend, and travel.
Distracted by the jibbering plenty
of the jungle, rest here
then carry the message in my cells.
I haven’t read much of her poetry, but I love the poems I’ve read so far. Like similar poets, she captures the beauty and intricacies of nature than many can miss without deliberate and curious observation. The following poem, St. Louse Botanical Gardens (The Orchid Exhibit), is one of the first I read:
Harlots’ frillies in lavender plaid,
iridescent puce, and a boa
of plashing maroon down a stem
iced with glitter. What will fetch
the silent exclamation from a bee?
Come, friend, torch your heels
with my pollen. Carry me like a rumor
through the green waves of your jungle.
The world’s most pampered flower
we are velvet pauch, we are brassy blondes.
While outside, at 35 Fahrenheit,
squirrels wait in suspense
for the headlines of spring,
and in Australia wallabies
steal the crop of winter grapes,
we’re cossetted and coaxed
by servile human hands, which keep
our silk purses steamy ripe. We dine
on the equivalent of larks’ tongues
and chocolate. We are free