While the Treegap Governess may appear to be remiss of late, it's only because reading is sometimes more important than writing and better yet, conversations about poetry trump mindless prattle into the blogosphere.
That said, I was overjoyed to know that W.S. Merwin was named the new Poet Laureate today. The position of Poet Laureate is a tad flimsy in America—the distinction ceremonial and rarely acknowledged—yet I’m glad our country still tries to honor poets with some kind of gesture. Before the Washington Post disbanded their BookWorld section entirely, each Sunday I had the privilege of reading a column about a poem selected by the Poet Laureate at the time (namely Wilbur, Dove, Brodsky, Haas and Pinsky), and that particular space was devoted to a new author or a new collection of poetry or reminded one to take another look at an old author or unexplored volume of poems. When the bottom line fell out of the newspaper business, BookWorld was the first to go and sadly, with it the “Poet’s Choice.”
While void of my weekly dosage of poetry via newspaper, I’ll never forget the day I bought my first Merwin book—instead of poems, I opted for “The Ends of the Earth,” a collection of essays which feel more like an historical novel and explanation of his philosophical outlook on life than merely essays feeding upon themselves. It was within that same year that the now defunct BookWorld gave him an honor as the Poet’s Choice for that week. It came from the paper on 11/20/05 and I remember cutting it out carefully with my scissors so as not to ruin the border of newsprint which would inevitably seep within the pores of my fingers. Today I took that book from off of my shelf, and from the inner spine fell that very clipping and it gave me a sort of good omen or hope for things to come.
Merwin has been around forever, it seems-- a being with an ancient soul you can only dream of having within your own chest. He is perhaps most famous for his lyric poems, addressed to everyone from his mother, friends, and even a “friend traveling” to emotions such as grief and even objects like his car, legs or glass. I love that this poet has been relevant, passionate and devoted to words for his entire existence.
Reading and writing are two of the best exercises I can think of. For that reason, I have selected three brief but powerful W.S. Merwin offerings to honor his new appointment. I hope he can inspire others to read, write and love and perhaps know something akin to the profundity in the basics of life.
Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
To Prose
…we know
only scattered fragments of you
glimpses of birds in bushes
gestures in car windows
of which we forget
at once almost everything
you define us
we are the ones who need you
we can no longer tell
whether we believe
anything without you
or whether we can hear
all that you are not
O web of answer
sea of forgetting is it true
that you remember
To Myself
Even when I forget you
I go on looking for you
I believe I would know you
I keep remembering you
sometimes long ago but then
other times I am sure you
were here for a moment before
and the air is still alive
around where you were and I
think then I can recognize
you who are always the same
who pretend to be time but
you are not time and who speak
in the words but you are not
what they say you who are not
lost when I do not find you
