Wednesday, December 17, 2008

::I heart William Stanley

While driving home from lunch today, I tuned in to Fresh Air on NPR and heard an interview with W.S. Merwin.
I first fell in love with his work (Thanks) when it was featured as a preface in Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies.
I adore the manner in which he manipulates language to extract such heartfelt, poignant responses from readers.
After absorbing one of his poems, I feel enriched, moved and undoubtedly understood...all by a complete stranger.
He read this poem on the air, and I haven't stopped thinking about it all day:

A Single Autumn

The year my parents died

one that summer one that fall

three months and three days apart

I moved into the house

where they had lived their last years

it had never been theirs

and was still theirs in that way

for a while

echoes in every room

without a sound

all the things that we

had never been able to say

I could not remember

doll collection

in a china cabinet

plates stacked on shelves

lace on drop-leaf tables

a dried branch of bittersweet

before a hall mirror

were all planning to wait

the glass doors of the house

remained closed

the days had turned cold

and out in the tall hickories

the blaze of autumn had begun

on its own

I could do anything

~W.S. Merwin

[from The New Yorker]

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