Echoing Light Poem by William Stanley Merwin
Echoing Light
When I was beginning to read I imagined
that bridges had something to do with birds
and with what seemed to be cages but I knew
that they were not cages it must have been autumn
with the dusty light flashing from the streetcar wires
and those orange places on fire in the pictures
and now indeed it is autumn the clear
days not far from the sea with a small wind nosing
over dry grass that yesterday was green
the empty corn standing trembling and a down
of ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields
and everywhere the colors I cannot take
my eyes from all of them red even the wide streams
red it is the season of migrants
flying at night feeling the turning earth
beneath them and I woke in the city hearing
the call notes of the plover then again and
again before I slept and here far downriver
flocking together echoing close to the shore
the longest bridges have opened their slender wings
A fantastic depiction has been made on autumn and on nature with nice penmanship. Beautiful poem. Thanks and congratulations for being selected this poem as the poem of the day.
flocking together echoing close to the shore the longest bridges have opened their slender wings
far downriver flocking together echoing close to the shore........./// beautiful poetic expression
a small wind nosing / over dry grass that yesterday was green / the empty corn standing trembling and a down of ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields- - ] beautiful imaginative descriptives and very evocative emotionally
''ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields''-I like this poem in which the words are used to paint the colors. In autumn, nature becomes red, orange, or yellow. It is a season of leaving or dying. The earth turns from east to west, from green to white, and some life bridges are cut temporary or permanently.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 10:35:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Indeed it is Autumn! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
You are not a poet just a gatherer of marks you tu..rd