Fan Ogilvie

FAN OGILVIE writes the way people think and don't have enough courage to say so. At times, declarative; other times, mystical. Her truth is crystalline and hard won on the page; and, proves authenticity is another name for Poetry.

Fan taught English and poetry in Washington, DC, New Haven, CT, New York City, NY, and Martha's Vineyard, MA. She was selected to be the 2nd Poet Laureate of West Tisbury, Ma. In spring of 2024 she established the Society for Selecting the Poet Laureate of Martha’s Vineyard.

Fan created and developed the Folger Shakespeare Library poetry program in 1984. She and Saskia Hamilton ran the program until 1994. Significant poets in the US and abroad read in the theater throughout the years.She worked three years at the Dukes County House of Correction, where she and Katie Upson published two volumes of poetry by the inmates. And learned the lyrics to Rap music. She is now facilitator of the Cleaveland House Poetry Workshop, the oldest (61years)continuous poetry group in the USA.

Fan, also a painter, had a one person show at Featherstone Center for the Arts, two shows at The Free Library of West Tisbury, the Chilmark Library and Galaxy Gallery in Oak Bluffs all in Massachusetts. Fan and Arnie Reisman co edited a collection of Judith Neeld’s poetry 2019, Judith Neeld “ Collected Poems”. Judith’s work has been celebrated many times on the Vineyard.

In 2020, Fan published “The Berth: American Themes in Poems and Images” the book is a conversation between a contemporary poet and a passenger on the Mayflower 400 years ago answering the question: what has happened to the dreams and experiment in democracy between then and now in America. For celebration of her 80th birthday in May she visited Plymouth England and saw where her relative William Brewster his wife Mary and sons Loving and Wrestling set sail.

In 2024 Fan published “Dust is the Only Secret” Assent to Life , a book of poetry and paintings of the last three years — her “Whale” of a collection— a collaboration of scientist, Ursula Goodenough, Fan’s poems, and excerpts from her memoir “Knot: a Life”. Fan heads the committee to select the 2024-2026 Martha’s Vineyard Poet Laureate. Claudia Taylor was officially appointed Martha’s Vineyard Poet Laureate 2024-2026.

Her newest ( not yet published )book titled “ A Little of This A Little of That” includes a longer poem “Oh God what have I Done to You?”

In 2008 Fan published “YOU" selected poems and "KNOT: A LIFE” a memoir. She won Chester H Jones Foundation Award. In 2016 "EASINESSES FOUND" poems and paintings was published. It received special recognition from the Washington Independent Review of Poetry and Grace Cavalieri, creator of the Poet and the Poem series. In 2020 “The Berth” was published.

The Whole World

Is on the field
The sun catches the tufts of his penis
The sun catches the left
of his white-furred face
The sun catches our eye
As we look at the red
bull and nine cows

The air is different from last year—
introduction of
one bull into the cows’ field changes
the whole dynamic.
If we were blind we would miss the world…
“as if “ would be the story.

One of the first things to develop
after single-cell life
had to be sight.
Then hearing then smell, motion and taste.
This bull’s story is all the above—

but because he is a good

respectful bull he takes his time
sniffs the cows to madness
so they bully him!

He has done it just right—
Slowly awakened them
to why
he is there in the sun
in the first place.

To Cave To The Mob

I WAS SITTING ON THE STONE WALL

WE BUILT SO MANY YEARS AGO
WHEN WE CAME OUT
OF THE CAVE

IT WAS A SHEER ACT OF REBELLION
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
WE NEED A PLACE TO PLAY
PRAYING WOULD COME LATER

AND MUCH LATER I WOULD LEARN
TO WRITE ALL THE WRONGS
I ENCOUNTERED IN THE CAVE
THIS TOOK STRENGTH

THIS TOOK LOVE
I NEVER SAW some of them again
Once I moved from the cave
To the wall

On the wall miracles happened—
I saw the earth turn to face the sun
After the dark again and again
Moving my head to the south

In tune with the trees that border
The big field I felt the wind
Blow—for what just blow
Loosening all the connections

The leaves had with the trees—
Until I saw the grown moon in the sky
Unless it was trapped in the branches —
These are no metaphors

Maybe my words are not poems yet
But they are all that I feel now
And the mob has no business
Here or when I die. The mob is mute.

A Quiet Uneventful Monday

In the middle of the mossy median
on a dirt road leading home

one Violet

Violet grew alone to signal to all

The rest “ I am spirit” Rest.

Nessun Dorma

What does it mean to say no one sleeps…
What does it mean to say no family fights
That’s sometimes what families do

The stars that quiver with love and hope
Will they repair the ancient feuds
Will they go down with Turandot

Will she bend her pride to call his name—
Love? He will say it on her mouth
His kiss will break the silence

He will win at dawn she will say Love.
He will win he will win.
All will awake in delight

God Make Me Comfortable
With Killing

It all boils down to him and me
or him or me. Doesn’t it?
You spelled it out for Moses:
Thou shalt not kill . Anything,
all things at anytime—
leave things alone to live
their god- given life?
Large holes in this commandment.

Such as: I need a cave
to live in— bing! I have
to kill all animals
who challenge me for this space.
I am hungry— bing—
I have to kill animals
I need clothing —bing—
I need fur for a coat

leather for shoes— again
I turn to animals.
Maybe the commandment
means— don’t kill other humans.
BUT OTHER HUMANS ARE NOT NICE
TO MY CLAN. They do not know
the commandment. To them we are just
occupying animals. We must kill

them if they take no time to try
to talk to us. What a conundrum!
We take no time to try to speak
to animals, for God’s sake. Or trees or plants.
No wonder God said no killing . The entire
planet, land and sea is a killing field.
I think what you were trying to get across—
bing—don’t kill

all
the
time…
just
when
you
absolutely

must.

Wet Or Dry

for Wislawa Szymborska

Take a look, a hard look
At a newborn baby
Almost edible you say
As wet as we get
From the placenta to naked body
To the breast to the bath—

Wet look from the eyes
Nose mouth wet bones
Inside mostly water—
Then from the long mirror
Look at us—our body our faces
Look back at us—

Dry as sand
When sand is dry
Cold, dry like dry canvas.
Then the baby cries
And we cry naked.
The rain pours then stops.