Born in New York City on September 30, 1927, William Stanley Merwin is the well-published author of more than fifteen anthologies of poetry. His many works include "The River Sound," published in 1999, a New York Times Notable Book of the Year and "Travels," written in 1993, which won the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize.

Merwin is considered on of the most influential American poets of the 20th century, having made a name for himself with his anti-war poetry during the 1960's. He later spent much time writing about mythological themes and was known for his unique style that featured no punctuation.

Merwin has also nearly twenty books of translation credited to him, including Dante's Purgatorio, as well as numerous plays and four books of prose. Merwin's many honors include the Pulitzer Prize and the much coveted Tanner Prize, along with an amazing list of awards that include the Aiken Taylor Award for Modern American Poetry , the Bollingen Prize, the Governor's Award for Literature of the State of Hawaii, the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, the PEN Translation Prize, the Shelley Memorial Award, the Wallace Stevens Award, and a Lila Wallace-Reader's Digest Writers' Award.

Merwin, currently residing in Hawaii, is the former Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets and recently was appointed to serve a five-year term as judge of the Yale Series of Younger Poets. He continues to write to this day yet he also spends a significant amount of time on the restoration of the Hawaiian rainforests.

Echoing Light

When I was beginning to read I imagined
that bridges had something to do with birds
and with what seemed to be cages but I knew
that they were not cages it must have been autumn
with the dusty light flashing from the streetcar wires
and those orange places on fire in the pictures
and now indeed it is autumn te clear
days not far from the sea with a small wind nosing
over dry grass that yesterday was green
the empty corn standing trembling and a down
of ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields
and everywhere the colors I cannot take
my eyes from all of them red even the wide streams
red it is the season of migrants
flying at night feeling the turning earth
beneath them and I woke in the city hearing
the call notes of the plover then again and
again before I slept and here far downriver
flocking together echoing close to the shore
the longest bridges have opened their slender wings