W.S. Merwin
It was always for the animals
that I grieved most
for the animals I had seen and for those
I had only heard of or dreamed about
or seen in cages or lying beside the road
for those forgotten and those long remembered
for the lost ones that were never found again
among people there were words we all knew
even if we did not say them and although
they were always inadequate when we said them
they were there if we wanted them when the time came
with the animals always there was only
presence as long as it was present and then
only absence suddenly and no word for it
in all the great written wisdom of China
where are the animals when were they lost
where are the ancestors who knew the way
without them all wise words are bits of sand
twitching on the dunes where the forests
once whispered in their echoing ancient tongue
and the animals knew their way among the trees
only in the old poems does their presence survive
the gibbons call from the mountain gorges
the old words all deepen the great absence
the vastness of all that has been lost
it is still there when the poet in exile
looks up long ago hearing the voices
of wild geese far above him flying home
for the animals I had seen and for those
I had only heard of or dreamed about
or seen in cages or lying beside the road
for those forgotten and those long remembered
for the lost ones that were never found again
among people there were words we all knew
even if we did not say them and although
they were always inadequate when we said them
they were there if we wanted them when the time came
with the animals always there was only
presence as long as it was present and then
only absence suddenly and no word for it
in all the great written wisdom of China
where are the animals when were they lost
where are the ancestors who knew the way
without them all wise words are bits of sand
twitching on the dunes where the forests
once whispered in their echoing ancient tongue
and the animals knew their way among the trees
only in the old poems does their presence survive
the gibbons call from the mountain gorges
the old words all deepen the great absence
the vastness of all that has been lost
it is still there when the poet in exile
looks up long ago hearing the voices
of wild geese far above him flying home
"The Wild Geese" is from Merwin's new book of poems, Garden Time, due out this coming week. According to the summary on Amazon, Merwin wrote this collection while he was slowly losing his eyesight (he's turning 90 at the end of the month). I first read and loved the poem without knowing what he was experiencing but now it seems more powerful. From studying his poems in college, I remember that Merwin often weaves loss of language into his work. That idea that language is inadequate and that ancient tongues are at risk of disappearing with death. Language comes back in this one. The idea that humans have the capacity to communicate with words, we can grieve with language when we lose each other, we exist in words even after we go, but without speech, animals are only present when they exist. He's also alluding to extinction, referring to the "vastness of all that has been lost," whether that is species or trees or language. In the end, "the poet in exile" seems to be Merwin, imprisoned in blindness, hearing the geese fly above.
There is so much wonderfulness in this poem and naturally, I can't begin to adequately dissect it. It has quickly become one of my all-time favorites. There are thematic nods to his other works and the evocation of such loss, in myriad ways, with such beautiful imagery had me at "It was always for the animals that I grieved most."
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