Author: Bob Benz

I became hooked more than 30 years ago, the first time I encountered his poems in The Carrier of Ladders. It was beautiful, stunning, strange. Sad to hear Merwin has moved on. As for the rest of us, well …

We continue

by W S Merwin
For Galway Kinnell

The rust a little pile of western color lies
At the end of its travels
Our instrument no longer.

Those who believe
In death have their worship cut out for them.
As for myself we
Continue

An old
Scar of light our trumpet
Pilgrims with thorns
To the eye of the cold
Under flags made by the blind
In one fist

Their letter that vanishes
If the hand opens:
Charity come home
Begin.