W. S. Merwin at the Newmark Theater was thinner than I expected. He wore big beautiful brown leather moccasins and spoke slowly with deep authority, grace, and wit.
He writes elegies to dogs. He recited Hardy and Hadrian.
I put up my feet, closed my eyes, nearly cried with relief. Oh my goodness, a poet, alive, standing tall in this deep blue room. Speaking about Listening and the loveliness of foxes.
1 comment:
Hello-
I just found your blog through Ann Marie's blog. I found it to be so beautiful I almost cried. Why isn't there more of it? I have a blog, too, you can read, where I write about hitch-hiking across the country by myself and What Would Happen If Annie Dillard And The Vampires Got In A Fight
Almost crying,
-carrot
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