Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
W. S. Merwin. The Second Four Books of Poems. (Copper Canyon Press, 1993)
Via KCecelia❤️
2 comments:
I read this post last night, but I didn't have time to comment. Isn't this an extraordinary poem? I love W. S. Merwin in general, but this poem particularly stopped me. I think of the date of my dad's death, three days before his 89th birthday. Every year we shared we passed that day as we happily prepared for his birthday celebrations on 9 December—he loved celebrating his birthday with his family gathered around him—and we never knew that day, 6 December, would be the day when the last fires would wave to him and the silence would set out as a tireless traveler like the beam of a lightless star. I wonder sometimes now what my own day will be. How strange, and how beautiful. Thank you for posting, and for mentioning me. Love to you, sweet Bumble. <3
hi MissWhistle,
What an incredibly beautiful poem, I can't seem to get that first stanza to leave my mind.
Thank you and thank you for all your other great posts: food,life,yoga...
liz from Paris
Post a Comment