[lit-ideas] Re: APRIL POEMS
- From: "Mirembe Nantongo" <nantongo@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 2 Apr 2005 19:15:21 +0100
Mike wrote:
> [W.S. Merwin] writes of the shadows of what's missing.
Yes. What's not there is just as important. And busy active shadows they
are -- loneliness that leaps and injustice that lights up buildings, etc,
etc. Absence as a presence, maybe. Kind of alarming, it feels to me, to see
such sharp awareness of and focus on what is missing -- or not? E.g. In
"When you go away" Merwin writes:
".. my words are the garment of what I shall never be
Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy."
and how about this one:
Beggars And Kings by W.S. Merwin
--------------------
In the evening
all the hours that weren't used
are emptied out
and the beggars are waiting to gather them up
to open them
to find the sun in each one
and teach it its beggar's name
and sing to it It is well
through the night
but each of us
has his own kingdom of pains
and has not yet found them all
and is sailing in search of them day and night
infallible undisputed unresting
filled with a dumb use
and its time
like a finger in a world without hands
<><><><>
Maybe it's just a glass half-full/half-empty thing, although I'm not sure
it's that simple....
Very many thanks to Mike anyway! All best, MN
----- Original Message -----
From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Saturday, April 02, 2005 5:16 PM
Subject: [lit-ideas] APRIL POEMS
>
> DEPARTURE'S GIRLFRIEND
>
>
> Loneliness leapt in the mirrors, but all week
> I kept them covered like cages. Then I thought
> Of a better thing.
>
> And though it was late night in the city
> There I was on my way
> To my boat, feeling good to be going, hugging
> This big wreath with the words like real
> Silver: Bon Voyage.
>
> The night
> Was mine but everyone's, like a birthday.
> Its fur touched my face in passing. I was going
> Down to my boat, my boat,
> To see if off, and glad at the thought.
> Some leaves of the wreath were holding my hands
> And the rest waved good-bye as I walked, as though
> They were still alive.
>
> And all went well till I came to the wharf, and no one.
>
> I say no one, but I mean
> There was this young man, maybe
> Out of the merchant marine,
> In some uniform, and I knew who he was; just the same
> When he said to me where do you think you're going,
> I was happy to tell him.
>
> But he said to me, it isn't your boat,
> You don't have one. I said, it's mine, I can prove it:
> Look at this wreath I'm carrying to it,
> Bon Voyage. He said, this is the stone wharf, lady,
> You don't own anything here.
> And as I
> Was turning away, the injustice of it
> Lit up the buildings, and there I was
> In the other and hated city
> Where I was born, where nothing is moored, where
> The lights crawl over the stone like flies, spelling now,
> Now, and the same fat chances roll
> Their many eyes; and I step once more
> Through a hoop of tears and walk on, holding this
> Buoy of flowers in front of my beauty,
> Wishing myself the good voyage.
>
> W. S. Merwin
>
>
> *****************
>
>
> Merwin has long been a favorite of mine. This is an earlier poem, his
> later
> poetry doesn't strike me as imagistic as this one, but more diaphanous, if
> you'll let me use that word. I've read that in Hiroshima there is large
> stone that has the shadow of a person seared into it by the A bomb -- the
> person was apparently burnt into the stone. Merwin's poetry is like that,
> he writes of the shadows of what's missing. Here's a short one from his
> later poetry:
>
> EARLY ONE SUMMER
>
> Years from now
> someone will come upon a layer of birds
> and not know what he is listening for
>
> these are days
> when the beetles hurry through dry grass
> hiding pieces of light they have stolen
>
> ******************
>
> Thanks to Mirembe for the Frank O'Hara and commentary. That's one of my
> favorites as well.
>
> Mike Geary
> Memphis
>
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