Richard Wilbur (1921-), born in New York City, sees poetry “as a means of organizing oneself and the world” which he took up as a result of the horrors of WWII. He uses meter and rhyme because in “complicating the writing-process” its “limitation makes for power: the strength of the genie comes of his being confined in a bottle.” He finds a kinship in French poets, whose work he has widely translated. He has won numerous awards for his translations and original work. He is a past poet Laureate of the U.S.
A Barred Owl
The warping night‑air having brought the boom
Of an owl's voice into her darkened room,
We tell the wakened child that all she heard
Was an odd question from a forest bird,
Asking of us, if rightly listened to,
"Who cooks for you?" and then "Who cooks for you?"
Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,
Can also thus domesticate a fear,
And send a small child back to sleep at night
Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight
Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw
Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.
Further Reading: Collected poems, 1943‑2004 / Richard Wilbur, 2004. The disappearing alphabet / Richard Wilbur ; illustrated by David Diaz, 1998. Things of this world : poems / Wilbur, Richard, [1956].
Coming in September: Lorna Dee Cervantes
Content developed by East Hampton resident and poet Leland Jamieson