like a finger in a world without hands

W.S. Mervin will be the new poet laureate of the United States. 

With millions mailing doomed resumes, with oil gushing into the Gulf
What is a poet laureate and who cares?

A poet whispers words at the world
Blowing truth kisses at passersby

Despite wars and borders to attend to
Someone in Washington remembered
To appoint a new poet

 


From the end of The River of Bees:

He was old he is not real nothing is real
Nor the noise of death drawing water

We are the echo of the future

On the door it says what to do to survive
But we were not born to survive
Only to live

From the end of  When You Go Away

I remember that I am falling
That I am the reason
And that my words are the garment of what I shall never be
Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy

A poet's life is words.  What is he saying here?  Good poetry is NOT sweetness and light.  It requires some work.  And the ability to face truths.



And here's a whole poem

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 

 

Here's a spoon to savor some of more of Mervin's word jams