W. S. Merwin’s 1969 book of poetry Writings to an Unfinished Accompaniment never ceases to blow my mind. It’s sparse, it eschews most punctuation, it slices straight into our core metaphysics (raw fear and awe) – at its best, it makes me gasp.
W. S. Merwin’s 1969 book of poetry Writings to an Unfinished Accompaniment never ceases to blow my mind. It’s sparse, it eschews most punctuation, it slices straight into our core metaphysics (raw fear and awe) – at its best, it makes me gasp.
JENNIFER LOVEGROVE 