Within four days of each other two of my favorite poets have died: W.S. Merwin on March 15, and Linda Gregg two days ago. Gregg was first introduced to me by my late poet friend, Kathy Mitchell, and yesterday, I pulled out the two books of Gregg poetry Kathy gifted to me. Kathy had inscribed both. Here is the inscription in one of them — Kathy’s questions brought tears to my eyes:
I learned of Gregg’s death on Facebook late yesterday afternoon, from the newsfeed of another of my favorite poets, Carolyn Forche. As of this writing, the New York Times had not yet published an obituary. I will include a link in the comment stream once it is published online. In the meantime, here is my favorite Gregg poem, “Fishing in the Keep of Silence,” from Chosen by the Lion:
There is a hush now while the hills rise up
and God is going to sleep. He trusts the ship
of Heaven to take over and proceed beautifully
as he lies dreaming in the lap of the world.
He knows the owls will guard the sweetness
of the soul in their massive keep of silence,
looking out with eyes open or closed over
the length of Tomales Bay that the egrets
conform to, whitely broad in flight, white
and slim in standing. God, who thinks about
poetry all the time, breathes happily as He
repeats to Himself: there are fish in the net,
lots of fish this time in the net of the heart.
Featured post image: Fishing nets in Greece, photograph by Nick Wolterstorff, from the private collection of Sharon J. Anderson
Still no obituary in the New York Times. Will post a link as soon as it is published.
Kathy begins her inscription to Gregg’s book, Chosen by the Lion” (pictured above), with a quote from this poem:
SOMETIMES
The soul makes out of ashes,
out of quicklime and white walls,
a crowd of seraphim singing.
Paradise is always the impossible
grown in the heart.
Until, fully formed, it escapes
as pictures on wooden panels
or on the plastered ceiling.
After the ashes and the quicklime,
after the horses in the church
and the riders with long swords
cutting down the simple men running,
even after the women are nailed
to the woodwork, even after all that,
there is a singing about paradise.
Another favorite Gregg poem:
THE HEART FLOWING OUT
All things we see are the shapes death makes.
When we see straightly and hard we see
with the eyes of death. Light and dark, the weight
of the forms: a bell, a door, in their placement
one with the other. The black window
and the white wall are taut in their exact
distance, and firm in themselves,
surrounded by the imperfect dark hills
and the absolute light of the sky. Feeling is not
in the things, but in us. Though sometimes
they shake like a vision in their perfect tension
of being. Death is strong, so the world is
that strong too. A man walks down a road
then cuts across a field. We walk
with our soft bodies and tough minds.
Water is the shine moving, death does not flow.
We flow, our bodies and hearts flow.
When we enter death it gives way,
but not yet. Our hearts flow out through
the consciousness, focused.
The more it looks, the more it sees the hard
thing shaking with its own energy
in relation to the whole scene and its meaning.
Making that meaning, whatever it means.
I am so sad we have lost such a beautiful voice when we need such voices. Thanks for the poems and for the connection to Kathy,– her wondrous spirit still brings us light. Poets, especially Gregg and the others recently lost, are today’s saints and sign posts for our spirit. I thank you for the reminder to drink at the well of their poetry.
Thanks, Charlotte.
In my humble opinion, “Fishing in the Keep of Silence,” is one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever read. So peaceful.
And yes, Kathy was such a wonderful, fierce creative force in our lives.
FYI — no obituary ANYwhere. Gregg was once married to the poet, Jack Gilbert (who won the National Book Award for his volume of poetry, Refusing Heaven), so I’m really surprised that her life and work aren’t being celebrated. I’ll keep checking.
It seems particularly fitting that you have shared the beauty of Linda Gregg’s work with us today on World Poetry Day.
I am saddened that you have lost a favorite poet and that the world has lost her beautiful and prophetic voice. We are blessed that she used her voice though and left her words as a trail of breadcrumbs to lead us out of the dark.
Sorry I didn’t see this comment until I woke up the morning after you posted it, Beth, and I didn’t turn out my night light until 9:45 p.m. EST! (Perhaps a new record!)
Her publisher, Graywolf Press (bless them for its commitment to publishing poetry) posted this tribute to her yesterday:
Graywolf Press is deeply saddened at the death of Linda Gregg. Her presence, like her work, was passionate, dazzling, and enduring. Since the publication of her exquisite Too Bright to See in 1981 to the publication of her award-winning All of It Singing: New and Selected Poems in 2008, Graywolf has been honored to be Linda Gregg’s publisher. She is one of the greats, and she is missed.
“I first encountered Linda Gregg’s voice, back when I was a student, via her poem ‘Let Birds.’ I loved that poem’s fearlessness, which seemed to be responsible for both its wild leaping energy, and its almost otherworldly intelligence. Having lived with her poems for decades now, I have learned immeasurably—and been immeasurably consoled—by those things, as well as by her belief in the rocks, the earth, the body, the sea, passion, rage, joy and calm. It’s that abundance, and the clean sharp mind capable of making meaning of it all, that most characterizes Gregg for me. No—not Gregg, but Linda. Because it is Linda whom I miss and love. Linda who was my teacher, my colleague and friend—and who remains a powerful ambassador for poetry’s weight and its light, for its wisdom and purity as an art form and a way of life.”—Tracy K. Smith, Poet Laureate of the United States
The tribute also included this Gregg poem:
ARRIVING
What do they say about the land of the dead? About the ceremony of the body?
About women in long dresses?
What do they say about the innocence of the flesh? What about the endeavor in nature
at ease with the dance and music?
Long ago beyond graves are worlds in state.
The cities still there in ruin. The neck of the ibex. Walled gardens surrounded by desert.
Imagined lions guarding the gate.
All as it was before.
Worlds out of time still exist.
Worlds of achievement out of mind and remembering just as the poem lasts.
In the concert of being present.
I have lost my lover and my youth.
I want to praise the meadow, the horse
rolling over in the river with me
as a girl underneath it. Surviving to see
the ferns in the woods, sunlight on blond hills.
And the aged apple trees
in a valley where there used to be a cabin.
Where someone lived. And where small inedible apples grow. That the deer will eat.
Thanks for sharing this beauty with me today.