[Drool]

"Nightgown"
(from Nights and Days, 1966)

A cold so keen,
my speech unfurls tonight
as from the chattering teeth
of a sewing machine.

Whom words appear to warm,
dear heart, wear mine. Come forth
wound in their flimsy white
and give it form.

This is not one of Merrill's best poems. A longer one would represent his skill and ability better, and even of his shorter poems this is one I chose merely because I don't happen to have his other books with me at the moment. But this is an excellent poem that possesses a certain characteristic--and possesses it in a way only a short poem (and only one by Merrill) can--which I want to bring up for discussion, namely that of "density."
In one sense, this is merely an extended metaphor, and extended over only two stanzas, but the amount of meaning compacted into these eight lines illustrates what is for me the essential reason one even bothers to write in form and meter at all.
Density--investing the least space with the most meaning--is the definition (for me) of poetry, whether poetry is the literary art or that quality in another art or in life itself which gives pleasure and significance. On a technical level, there seems in my view to be one specific way density is achieved, and that is through implicit metaphor--a metaphor which is not signalled by the word "of" but is inherent in the active verb. In Merrill's poem above, the phrase "my words unfurl" is an implicit metaphor. Usually this verb would suggest a flag being unfurled, but Merrill elaborates upon it in the following lines. Those two parts of speech--subject and verb--have incredible potential to generate meaning when used originally and thoughtfully.
Another aspect of Merrill's poem is its syntax. I love the beginning of the second stanza because the same meaning could (and would by most writers) have been expressed in many more words than he uses here. "Whom words appear to warm," aside from being perfectly iambic and from rhyming with the last line, functions as the subject of the sentence by eliding the pronoun. Usually one would read "You whom" or, worse, "You that." The way the syntax can elide certain parts of speech, certain extraneous words, contributes to its density and therefore to its power to affect.
I'll have more to say about this later. Any response is eagerly awaited.

David

[Richard Wakefield]

David, while I don't agree that density is the definition of poetry, it's certainly a frequent characteristic of the good stuff. And you're right that this poem has it, as so many of Merrill's do. For me there's a sense that I'm overhearing a monologue, maybe even a train of thought, and can only guess at the context. Yet the context is so strongly implicit that the poem's weight isn't lessened by my not knowing the specifics.
Richard

[Michael Juster]

I have kinduva love/hate thing with Merrill. I admire the virtuosity enormously (and try to borrow from it when I can), but I think there is a hollowness to the man that makes the poetry mostly hollow. This one illustrates my issue--there is a distance from the reader and the subject that makes the poem puzzling though technically skilled.

[Alan Sullivan]

Merrill is admired by people whom I admire, but he seems to be an acquired taste. As a young man, I was so off-put by his Ouija-board maunderings that I have given him short shrift ever since.

I find David's comment on "density" to be intriguing. Richard Wilbur uses the word "charge" in pretty much the same sense. I would imagine that David must be an admirer of the divine Miss D., but so narrow a definition of poetry must inevitably exclude more relaxed or narrative verse.

Alan Sullivan

[Kate Benedict]

I never understood Merrill's stature or fame myself. His verses leave me cold; I don't find a much of human experience in most of them. He seems to tiptoe around experience and feeling, a defended man, or perhaps just a suave one.

Evidently, though, he was a marvelous person, and generous wih his considerable wealth, generous to friends and young poets. Since Drool likes him, I will revisit Merrill in search of pearls.



[This message has been edited by Kate Benedict (edited January 02, 2001).]

[Drool]

There does seem to be a consensus here about Merrill's faults or deficits. Taste is always at least half subjective and personal, but of course it's necessary to try to explain why one prefers or admires a particular artist or style over another. In the case of Merrill, I can understand how he might be accused of being aloof--due in part to some of the same qualities I admire, such as the syntax and diction. Much of his poetry requires a few readings just to get the fundamental sense, but I've found the process entirely effective. His style is similar to that of Henry James' prose (and I'm sure there are many here who dislike that as well), which requires a suspension of the understanding until the entire sentence or passage has been assimilated.
As for density, it is admittedly too narrow to encompass the whole of poetry, but I believe strongly that the langauge of poetry is not the language of ordinary, daily life, the "real" language used by men on the street. It's difficult to formulate this without ruffling feathers, and I'm not about to claim I've figured it all out.

[Michael Juster]

Drool: I'll actually stand by you on your density point--I tend to think it's a major element that distinguishes great poetry from both prose and bad poetry. I'll desert when the battle is joined on your other point. I don't think Merrill's aloofness comes from syntax or diction as much as his themes and images. I don't usually go for Marxist or Freudian criticism, but it is hard here to resist either one--Merrill's poetry is the gorgeously neurotic and bloodless work of a highly repressed elitist.

[Alan Sullivan]

This discussion sorely tempts me to post some short verse by Tim Murphy, who often demonstrates that "density," brevity, simplicity, and clarity can be achieved all at once. I find the latter quality missing from "Nightgown." Merrill did not feel free to call a queen a queen, and I can't be bothered to decode his oblique references. No doubt the modernist fashion for obscurity suited his private imperative for concealment.

Alan Sullivan

[Michael Juster]

But if y'all want to know what Alan and I REALLY think, let us know....

[Caleb Murdock]

I agree that Timothy Murphy's poetry provides an excellent example of poetry that is dense without sacrificing any other element. However, this poem by Merrill reminds me, for some reason, of "Nocturne" by W.H. Auden, which is also dense yet perfectly clear. Many people who have only read Auden's "September, 1939" don't know that he wrote many much more eloquent poems.

NOCTURNE

Make this night lovable,
Moon, and with eye single
Looking down from up there,
Bless me, One especial
And friends everywhere.

With a cloudless brightness
Surround our absences;
Innocent be our sleeps,
Watched by great still spaces,
White hills, glittering deeps.

Parted by circumstance,
Grant each your indulgence
That we may meet in dreams
For talk, for dalliance,
By warm hearths, by cool streams.

Shine lest tonight any,
In the dark suddenly,
Wake alone in a bed
To hear his own fury
Wishing his love were dead.

W. H. Auden

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Caleb
www.poemtree.com