William Morris Meredith Jr.
Biography of William Morris Meredith Jr.
an American poet and educator. He was Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1978 to 1980.
Meredith was born in New York City to William Morris Meredith, Sr. and Nelley Keyser. He began writing while a college student at Princeton University where with his first volume of poetry Love Letter from an Impossible Land he was selected by Archibald MacLeish for publication as part of Yale Series of Younger Poets Competition. He graduated magna cum laude from Princeton in 1940, writing a senior thesis on Robert Frost.
He worked briefly for the New York Times before joining the United States Navy as a flier. Meredith re-enlisted in the Korean War, receiving two Air Medals.
In 1988 Meredith was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and a Los Angeles Times Book Award for Partial Accounts: New and Selected Poems and in 1997 he received the National Book Award for Effort at Speech. Meredith was also awarded a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship, the Harriet Monroe Memorial Prize, the Carl Sandburg Award, and the International Vaptsarov Prize in Poetry.
From 1964 to 1987 Meredith served as Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets.
From 1978 to 1980, Meredith was Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, the position which in 1985 became the Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. He has the distinction of being the first gay poet to receive this honor.
Meredith taught at Princeton University, the University of Hawaii and at Connecticut College from 1955 to 1983. In 1983, he suffered a stroke and was immobilized for two years. As a result of the stroke he suffered with expressive aphasia, which affected his ability to produce language. Meredith ended his teaching career and could not write poetry during this period. He regained many of his language skills after intensive therapy and traveling to Britain for treatment.
A long time admirer of the Irish poet W. B. Yeats, in the summer of 2006 Meredith fulfilled a long-time ambition of visiting Yeats's spiritual homeplace of Sligo, Ireland. While there he also attended the renowned Yeats International Summer School, which attracts many renowned academics and admirers of Yeats to Sligo every summer.
Meredith died in New London, Connecticut, near his home in Montville, where he lived with his partner of 36 years, the poet Richard Harteis. A film about his life, Marathon, premiered on November 19, 2008 in Mystic, Connecticut.
1988 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry – Partial Accounts
1997 National Book Award for Poetry – Effort at Speech
1975 Guggenheim Fellowship
William Morris Meredith Jr.'s Works:
Love Letter from an Impossible Land, Yale University Press, (1944)
Ships and Other Figures (1948)
The Open Sea and Other Poems, Knopf, (1957)
The Wreck of the Thresher and Other Poems, Knopf, (1964)
Earth Walk: New and Selected Poems, Knopf, (1970)
Hazard the Painter Knopf, (1975)
The Cheer, Knopf, (1980)
Dreams of Suicide (1980)
Partial Accounts: New and Selected Poems, Knopf, (1987)
Effort at Speech: New and Selected Poems. Northwestern University Press. 1997.
Reasons for Poetry, and The Reason for Criticism (1982)
Poems Are Hard to Read, University of Michigan Press, 1991
Translation and Anthology
Alcools, Guillaume Apollinaire (Translator, 1964)
Poets of Bulgaria Unicorn Press, (Editor, 1985)
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William Morris Meredith Jr. Poems
Here at the seashore they use the clouds over & over again, like the rented animals in Aïda. In the late morning the land breeze turns and now the extras are driving
What it must be like to be an angel or a squirrel, we can imagine sooner. The last time we go to bed good, they are there, lying about darkness.
Accidents Of Birth
Spared by a car or airplane crash or cured of malignancy, people look around with new eyes at a newly praiseworthy world, blinking eyes like these.
Going abruptly into a starry night It is ignorance we blink from, dark, unhoused; There is a gaze of animal delight Before the human vision. Then, aroused
Love Letter From An Impossible Land
Combed by the cold seas, Bering and Pacific, These are the exile islands of the mind. All the charts and history you can muster Will not make them real as the fog is real
In Chota Nagpur and Bengal the betrothed are tied with threads to mango trees, they marry the trees as well as one another, and
Effort At Speech
Climbing the stairway gray with urban midnight, Cheerful, venial, ruminating pleasure, Darkness takes me, an arm around my throat and Give me your wallet.
Thoughts On One’s Head
A person is very self-conscious about his head. It makes one nervous just to know it is cast In enduring materials, and that when the real one is dead The cast one, if nobody drops it or melts it down, will last.
Limped out of the hot sky a hurt plane, Held off, held off, whirring pretty pigeon, Hit then and scuttled to a crooked stop. The stranger pilot who emerged—this was the seashore,
In the tunnel of woods, as the road Winds up through the freckled light, a porcupine, Larger than life, crosses the road. He moves with the difficulty of relics—
He drives onto the grassy shoulder and unfastens his seat-belt. The aluminum buckle glistens. He is watched from behind by two upholstered knobs. He thinks: strapped to things we drive or fly,
The Jain Bird Hospital In Delhi
Outside the hotel window, unenlightened pigeons weave and dive like Stukas on their prey, apparently some tiny insect brother. (In India, the attainment of nonviolence
The Wreck Of The Thresher
I stand on the ledge where rock runs into the river As the night turns brackish with morning, and mourn the drowned. Here the sea is diluted with river; I watch it slaver Like a dog curing of rabies. Its ravening over,
The Open Sea
We say the sea is lonely; better say Ourselves are lonesome creatures whom the sea Gives neither yes or no for company.
Go, little book. If anybody asks
Why I add poems to a time like this,
Tell how the comeliness I can't take in
Of ships and other figures of content
Compels me still until I give them names;
And how I give them names impatiently,
As who should pull up roses by the roots
That keep him turning on his empty bed,
The smell intolerable and thick with loss.