The Writer

by Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house

Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,

My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing

From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys

Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff

Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:

I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,

As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.

A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,

And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor

Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling

Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;

How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;

And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,

We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature

Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove

To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,

For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits

Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,

Beating a smooth course for the right window

And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,

Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish

What I wished you before, but harder.

Richard Wilbur

March 1, 1921 - ?

Born in New York City and grew up in North Caldwell, New Jersey
Fought in World War II
Good friends with Robert Frost
Has received two Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry
As of 2009 teaches at Amherst College
Known for his poetry, translations, and children's books

From Wikipedia:

Continuing the tradition of Robert Frost and W. H. Auden, Wilbur's poetry finds illumination in everyday experiences.

Poem Structure

Rhyme

There is none!

Rhythm

There is none!

Kind of.

And then I like the new poem to my daughter, the one called “The Writer.” But I enjoyed that also as a formal departure; I enjoyed not rhyming for a change.
~ Richard Wilbur

Free verse with internal consistency

Short, long, short lines make a rhythm of waves and typewritters

Interview about "The Writer"

The Paris Review

"People sometimes imagine that a rush of love for one's daughter might produce a poem. It's not that at all—it's that two ideas, two images come together, and then you've got something to work with."

"…I don't think a poem is a message. It's a kind of performance; it's a kind of machine of feeling that other people can use."

Poem Analysis

Ship Metaphor