Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.
And the New Yorker posted a piece talking about him with links to many of the prose pieces he wrote for them: https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/w-s-merwin-in-th...
Including an old favorite of mine, "The Remembering Machines of Tomorrow", written in 1969: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1969/11/29/the-rememberin...
There's a copy that appears to be readable without a paywall here: https://books.google.com/books?id=o6zuPVOrVIQC&lpg=PA105&ots...
Seems like a remarkable creative, even though I just learned of him. RIP.
LIGHTS OUT The old grieving autumn goes on calling to its summer the valley is calling to other valleys beyond the ridge each star is roaring alone into darkness there is not a sound in the whole night
from "Hoelderlin at the River"/The Vixen
Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.