Finding W.S. Merwin

I grew up on a farm in northwestern Illinois. My dad is a poet, my mom a voracious reader. The front room of the farmhouse was rich with books. One whole wall of built-in bookcases and a few standing ones, in one of which the thin-spined poetry books were kept. I was drawn to the poems, how sparse they were, a few black words against a white page like the woods in winter. I found myself hungering for them. Just one more, I’d tell myself, reading Rexroth’s translations from the Chinese and Ja

Mormonism, Religion, and History · Poetry Analysis and Criticism · Psychology