Wednesday, April 30, 2014

it grows less

For some time I thought there was time
and that there would always be time
for what I had a mind to do
and what I could imagine
going back to and finding it
as I had found it the first time
but by this time I do not know
what I thought when I thought back then

there is no time yet it grows less
there is the sound of rain at night
arriving unknown in the leaves
once without before or after
then I hear the thrush waking
at daybreak singing the new song

"The New Song" by W.S. Merwin, from The Moon Before Morning. © Copper Canyon Press, 2014.

And so we say adieu to April and to poetry focus.


  1. This was my fave Knopf poem this month:


    An ordinary evening in Wisconsin
    seen from a Greyhound bus - mute aisles
    of merchandise the sole inhabitants
    of the half-darkened Five and Ten,

    the tables of the single lit café awash
    with unarticulated pathos, the surface membrane
    of the inadvertently transparent instant
    when no one is looking: outside town

    the barns, their red gone dark with sundown,
    withhold the shudder of a warped terrain -
    the castle rocks above, tree-clogged ravines
    already submarine with nightfall, flocks

    (like dark sheep) of toehold junipers,
    the lucent arms of birches : purity
    without a mirror, other than a mind bound
    elsewhere, to tell how it looks.