for W. S. Merwin, September 30, 1927 – March 15, 2019
Even though the whole world is burning
question not the equinox’s rise in the turning
of Earth of Merwin evangelist of nature giving alms
to autodidactic Orpheus of presence raining light
on sun worshippers reflection in droplets on palm
leaves turning volcanic sands of time on a strong night
for I was there in the breeze searching in the shadow
of Sirius for you searching for the compass flower
talking to the trees just as a father calls from windows
beckoning his children to the sweetness of morning
pineapple melting over your mouth preserving butterflies
washed in colours of afterlife showered in your words of power
READ MORE
W.S. Merwin, poet of life’s evanescence, dies at 91 [New York Times]
The final prophesy of W.S. Merwin [The New Yorker]
M. T. Whitington has southern roots. Born in Pleasant Hill, Mississippi, the south pulls on her soul roaming earth a force majeure. Like other southern writers, she blazed a trail through Los Angeles and after UCLA worked in the film industry and journalism. A poetess with a passion for rhythm and wisdom producing unique experimental tone, she embraces form a futurist focusing on science, technology, nature, and philosophy; polemicist technomad ruminating between lines with extreme unction and a clarion call.
