Two days ago . . .
March 15th 2019
A Famous Poet Dies In His Sleep
W. S. Merwin was a gentleman--a gentle man. I met
him only once--once was enough for a memory that
would last me until this day 20 years later.
I had carried around a collection of his poems
since my college days at CSULB.
In 1999 I noted that Merwin would be reading
at the Times/UCLA Festival of Books. That
day I rushed to the Poetry Corner, knowing there
would likely be a crowd.
I spotted him approaching the tent and like any
crazy with enthusiasm poet, words of appreciation
gushed, "Oh, Mr. Merwin, I love your poems!"
"Good afternoon." He smiled.
" I just wanted you to know my favorite. . ."
"Oh, what poem is that?" When I saw that he
really wanted to know, I pulled out my copy of
Writings To An Unfinished Accompaniment and
turned to page 22.
When he saw the book, he mused "that's an old one."
Glancing over the page, recalling whatever feelings
had engender the writing of "Their Week" he asked
if he could borrow the book, "I'll read that poem--I kinda like it."
And so he did.
While he read it, I brought up my camera and very discreetly
captured an image as I listened. A poor quality photo--but
the moment was captured. After the reading, Merwin signed
the page and handed the book back to me. And now I am
handing on this story to you.
The memory as fresh as that day: April 24, 1999.
Rest In Peace W. S. Merwin
May you weave the bells of poetry forever.
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