James Merrill Poems
|2.||A Mysterious Epigraph||5/9/2012|
|7.||The Puzzle Is No Puzzle||5/9/2012|
|8.||The Candid Decorator||5/9/2012|
|9.||The Broken Home||5/9/2012|
|10.||An Urban Convalescence||5/9/2012|
|11.||Voices From The Other World||5/9/2012|
Voices From The Other World
Presently at our touch the teacup stirred,
Then circled lazily about
From A to Z. The first voice heard
(If they are voices, these mute spellers-out)
Was that of an engineer
Originally from Cologne.
Dead in his 22nd year
Of cholera in Cairo, he had KNOWN
NO HAPPINESS. He once met Goethe, though.
Goethe had told him: PERSEVERE.
Our blind hound whined. With that, a horde
Of voices gathered above the Ouija board,
Some childish and, you might say, blurred
By sleep; one little boy
Named Will, reluctant possibly in a ...