The Drunk In The Furnace

by W.S. Merwin

Merwin's fourth collection of poems

Genres: Poetry

54 pages, Unknown Binding

First published January 1, 1960

About the author

William Stanley Merwin was an American poet, credited with over fifty books of poetry, translation and prose.

William Stanley Merwin (September 30, 1927 – March 15, 2019) was an American poet who wrote more than fifty books of poetry and prose, and produced many works in translation. During the 1960s anti-war movement, Merwin's unique craft was thematically characterized by indirect, unpunctuated narration. In the 1980s and 1990s, his writing influence derived from an interest in Buddhist philosophy and deep ecology. Residing in a rural part of Maui, Hawaii, he wrote prolifically and was dedicated to the restoration of the island's rainforests.

Merwin received many honors, including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1971 and 2009; the National Book Award for Poetry in 2005, and the Tanning Prize—one of the highest honors bestowed by the Academy of American Poets—as well as the Golden Wreath of the Struga Poetry Evenings. In 2010, the Library of Congress named him the 17th United States Poet Laureate.

Reviews

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Odysseus


Always the setting forth was the same,
Same sea, same dangers waiting for him
As though he had got nowhere but older.
Behind him on the receding shore
The identical reproaches, and somewhere
Out before him, the unraveling patience
He was wedded to. There were the islands
Each with its woman and twining welcome
To be navigated, and once to call "home."
The knowledge of all that he betrayed
Grew till it was the same whether he stayed
Or went. Therefore he went. And what wonder
If sometimes he could not remember
Which was the one who wished on his departure
Perils that he could never sail through,
And which, improbable, remote, and true,
Was the one he kept sailing home to?

* * *

Under the Old One


Helpless improver,
Grown numerous and clever
Rather than wise or loving,
Nothing is newer than ever
Under the sun:

Still specious, wanton, venal,
Your noise as dull
And smiles self-flattering
As was usual
Under any heaven.

How often, before this,
You went on knees
To moons of your own making,
Abject, with no peace
Under the old one.

* * *

In Stony Country


Somewhere else than these bare uplands dig wells,
Expect flowers, listen to sheep bells.
Wind; no welcome; and nowhere else
Pillows like these stones for dreaming of angels.

* * *

Summer


Be of this brightness dyed
Whose unrecking fever
Flings gold before it goes
Into voids finally
That have no measure.

Bird-sleep, moonset,
Island after island,
Be of their hush
On this tidy that balance
A time, for a time.

Islands are not forever,
Nor this light again,
Tide-set, brief summer,
Be of their secret
That fears no other.

[John · Rating 4 out of 5]

A slim volume of poems that came out before Merwin started a stylistical change where punctuation disappeared. This was the last of what was referred to as the first four — the books that followed seemed almost, at least to me, written by a different poet. This book has poems in the first half that seemed sea-driven and coastal, while the second half seemed more concerned with his early life in rural Pennsylvania. The poems are good — formal, quiet, observing, and compact.

[Stephen Ryan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is Merwin's fourth book of poetry and it continues the trend of each book being better than the last. This is the pinnacle for a while, I think, because with his next book he starts into his minimalist thing and it takes a while for him to really get that nailed down, in my opinion. But this one is just fantastic.

[Josh]

What a phenomenal book of poetry! My favorite poem from the book has to be one about Odysseus and the odyssey. Other great poems by this playwright include his memories of the pineapple farm he lived on in Hawaii.

Wish I would have read it before he passed away, oh well.