When Rumi went into the tavern
I followed.
I heard a lot of crazy talk
and a lot of wise talk.

But the roses wouldn’t grow in my hair.

When Rumi left the tavern
I followed.
I don’t mean just to pick at
such a famous fellow.
Indeed he was rather ridiculous with his
long beard and his dusty feet.
But I heard less of the crazy talk and
a lot more of the wise talk and I was
hopeful enough to keep listening

until the day I found myself
transformed into an entire garden
of roses.

– Mary Oliver
from Blue Horses: Poems

This poem was dedicated to Coleman Barks, the poet responsible for interpreting many of Rumi’s works, and paying homage to the great Sufi mystic. For those who read poetry as soul food, to have Oliver writing about Rumi is undoubtedly the jewel in the crown. Oliver doesn’t disappoint, speaking words at the heart of every Rumi enthusiast and capturing his effect on readers with an honesty and simplicity that only a Mary Oliver poem can deliver.

For someone who absolutely loves flowers, I’m not a big fan of roses, especially the long-stem red variety.  Too many negative connotations make me associate red roses with sorry-not-sorry-and-I’m-going-to-do-it-again.  But this beauty is what I think of as a real rose, one that grew on the rosebush outside my house. It was a very old bush, rather wild despite my best efforts in pruning, but when it was in bloom, I’d open my windows and the fragrance would perfume my house.  It was lovely. I don’t have the house or the rosebush anymore, but now the roses grow in my hair.  Perhaps one day I’ll be transformed into an entire garden of roses.