The nuanced mysteries of light, darkness, presence, and
memory are central themes in W.S. Merwin’s new book of
poems. “I have only what I remember,” Merwin admits, and his
memories are focused and profound—the distinct qualities of
autumn light, a conversation with a boyhood teacher,
well-cultivated loves, and “our long evenings and
astonishment.” In “Photographer,” Merwin presents the scene
where armloads of antique glass negatives are saved from a
dumpcart by “someone who understood.” In “Empty Lot,” Merwin
evokes a child lying in bed at night, listening to the
muffled dynamite blasts of coal mining near his home, and we
can’t help but ask: How shall we mine our lives?
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