James Merrill Poems
|3.||The Candid Decorator||5/9/2012|
|4.||A Mysterious Epigraph||5/9/2012|
|5.||The Puzzle Is No Puzzle||5/9/2012|
|7.||The Broken Home||5/9/2012|
|8.||An Urban Convalescence||5/9/2012|
|10.||Voices From The Other World||5/9/2012|
Comments about James Merrill
I peered into the crater’s heaving red
And quailed. I called upon the Muse. I said,
“The day I cease to serve you, let me die!”
And woke alone to birdsong, in our bed.
The flame was sinewed like those angels Blake
Drew faithfully. One old log, flake by flake,
Gasped out its being. Had it hoped to rise
Intact from such a wrestler’s give-and-take?
My house is made of wood so old, so dry
From years beneath this pilot-light blue sky,
A stranger’s idle glance could be the match
That sends us all to blazes.—Where was I?
Ah yes. The man from Aetna ...