Yesterday I didn’t write a small stone. Too tired, feeling ill and full of self doubt.
Today I was introduced to an American poet new to me – W.S.Merwin.
I have been reading some of his poems on line. These words, describing advice he received from his teacher, spoke to me.
“…I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can’t
you can’t you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don’t write”
W.S. Merwin, “Berryman” from Migration.
Perhaps the act of writing is just another example of faith…
Find the whole poem here