When my father died I saw
a narrow valley
Merwin’s first book of the eighties is an interesting departure in some ways. Right from the get-go, it’s clear that, though the style remains more or less the same as in his last few books (the outlying Feathers from the Hill aside), that the subject matter is going to be different. Merwin spends a lot of time talking about his family and his own life in these poems, in particular his parents and his youth. Merwin’s work, even at its most personal, as in The Lice, has always been about capturing his pure emotions, never about really recounting narratives about himself or his parents and I have to say that I think this is his weakest book since The Moving Target. There are moments of brilliance, of course, but I just think the poetry here is a lot flatter than it has been in a lot of his other books and maybe the subject matter is enough to kind of throw him for a loop. Or maybe the well has just finally started drying up a bit. Merwin had a long run of masterpieces, in my opinion; this book opens the fourth decade of his writing career. Anyway, this one is okay, not much more. 2 ½ stars.
tl;dr – book of poetry focuses, uncharacteristically, on Merwin’s own life and family to unfortunately negative effect; a lackluster opening to a new decade of Merwin’s career. 2 ½ stars.