Writing

fiction

When You Live by a River

In Dark Water

Same Blood

Short Stories

Non-fiction

A Conversation with Fear

Essays

Poetry

Interviews and Reviews

Skiing

PowerLearn

The Fear Workshop

In the Yikes Zone

Gardening

Garden Gallery

Biography

Contact Mermer

My poems do not try to be forms of self-expression. Rather, at their best, they arrive from an intense and compressed engagement with the world. They come with their own voice, but then it can take hours, days, weeks or years to find the particular form—each word, each image, each line—the poem wants.

One word
—one stone
in a cold river.
One more stone—
I’ll need many stones
if I’m going to get over.
Olav Hauge
(tr. by Robert Bly)

It is hard in our culture to keep the muse of poetry fed, because much of the world has been deadened, reduced to what is inert, measurable, controllable. But by this small gesture of attending to what is alive in the poem, we can hear the inner-ness of the world, let what is out there speak. As Stanley Kunitz said: “I dream of an art so transparent that you can look through and see the world.”

When writing, a moment reveals itself as three-dimensional, a room we can enter, look around, smell, taste, touch, feel and think. We often hurry through a day so that moment of arrest is a rare and lucky thing. Hopefully, a reader feels the same pause, the world before her plumped up and saturated from this humble but rigorous form of love.

 

Poetry

 

Visitation

One of Narrative’s Top 5 Poems of the Week
for 2010-2011; finalist in Narrative’s Second Annual Poetry Contest.

how do we bury the dead

Finalist in Narrative’s First Annual Poetry Contest.

The Man on the Backhoe

Heliotrope, 2004.

 
 
   
 

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