What We’re Reading: W.S. Merwin

With all the attention given to the new U.S. poet laureate Philip Levine, I thought it would only be fitting to spend some time with the exiting poet laureate, W.S. Merwin, as well. Migration: New & Selected Poems is a compilation of over 50 years of Merwin’s poetry.

With such a wide-spanning collection, it’s easy to point out the shifts in style, form, and subject, and simultaneously, the consistencies throughout his career. For example, all of his poems lack punctuation of any sort for the most part, propelling you through the poem. In some collections, such as The River Sound, his poems are long-winded both in line and overall, stretching for page upon page; more often, however, his poems are short with compact lines.

The subjects change, too. His earlier work is a bit more gritty and focuses on people, relationships, and even politics. His later work largely centers around his observations of nature. The most striking thing about his work for me was the sense of calm wonder and honesty that permeates most of his poetry. Later in his life, Merwin found Buddhism and has practiced it since. Many attribute this to his subject change to the natural world.

In one of my (many) favorite poems, Merwin questions the origin of nature. In this poem, it’s important to me that he’s asking, that he’s curious, and yearns to learn about the natural world. Yet, the lost connection that most of our generation has with the earth is obvious. It’s clear that he has much to learn, to remember, as do we.

Hearing the Names of the Valleys

Finally the old man is telling

the forgotten names

and the names of the stones they came from

for a long time I asked him the names

and when he says them at last

I hear no meaning

and cannot remember the sounds

 

I have lived without knowing

the names for the water

from one rock

and the water from another

and behind the names that I do not have

the color of water flows all day and all night

the old man tells me the name for it

and as he says it I forget it

 

these are names for the water

between here and there

between places now gone

except in porcelain faces

on the tombstones

and places still here

 

and I ask him again

the name for the color of water

wanting to be able to say it

as though I had known it all my life

without giving it a thought

I read this interesting interview with Merwin by Bill Moyers in which Merwin says, “I can’t imagine ever writing anything on any kind on a machine. I never tried to write either poetry or prose on a typewriter. I like to do it on useless paper, scrap paper, because it’s of no importance.” His writing reflects this lack of over-indulgent self-importance which makes it easier to approach, similar to Timothy’s take on the new poet laureate, Philip Levine.  Do you think this level of approachability is a trend with poet laureates? What does that mean for “main stream” poetry, or American poetry? Does the medium you’re using to put down words change how you approach your work (fiction, essay, or poem)?

Another interesting thought to leave you with from the same interview is this (bear with me, it gets a little philosophical): “[. . .] know all of your knowledge is important, but your knowledge will never make anything. It will help you to form the things, but what makes something is something that you will never know. It comes out of you. It’s who you are.”