Dining with a Poet

As most of you probably know, W.S. Merwin has been chosen as the next Poet Laureate, succeeding Kay Ryan. So there he was on the evening news last night, walking around his house in Hawaii, talking about his work and reading a poem. He is an old man now, with a shock of white hair, but at one point photos of him as a young man--he was notoriously handsome--flashed on the screen. He is now 82 or 3, roughly 10 years older than me. Some fifty plus years ago, when I was 19 and on the verge of being married, I sat next to him at a dinner party at my parents' house. They had met Merwin and his then wife, the formidable Dido Milroy, in London and brought him to Cornell, where my father taught, for a reading. My mother put me next to him at the table, where I sat frozen with shyness at finding myself in the company of just about the best looking man I had ever seen, and a poet to boot. In short, Merwin really looked like a poet should look, unlike some of the others I had met, who were so disappointingly ordinary. Wild thoughts raced through my head, did I really want to get married and seal my life's fate, or so I thought? All my doubts about the decision emerged. Maybe I could just run away with Merwin instead. At one point he turned his brilliant blue eyes on me and asked me what I wanted to do. When I mumbled something incoherent about writing he came back with, of course, of course I wanted to be a writer--what else was there?
I went to bed that night dreaming of possibilities--none of which I pursued, and in the end that's been just fine. But all through the years I have followed Merwin's burgeoning career and chaotic love life. His poetry and translations have given me enormous pleasure, especially his later work. I recommend it highly.. Also, for anyone who loves France, or good memoirs in general, I suggest The Lost Upland, a portrayal of his property in Southwestern France.