Looking through the poems in this selection, I found many I'd forgotten, or half-forgotten, and the voice sometimes of a stranger, or a younger brother. Over time, the contexts have shifted, the loci have changed, though the poems are neither regional nor cosmopolitan. I find that metaphor and image are still my natural tools of composition, and the poems remain rooted in personal concerns. I have moved many times, and resisted moving even more. As a Pisces I have always been of two minds, neither of which seemed sufficient.

I was born in Japan before the war, spent half my childhood there, grew up in Canada, lived ten years in England, and the past thirty-odd years in Texas. My moves, I realize, have been circumstantial rather than planned, and this is true of the poems as well, and my career as a teacher. I am blessed with a living family, but the ghosts remain strong; they live on in the bloodstream, and are present in most of the poems. There is a female shadow in many of the poems, which I'd hesitate to call muse or anima. Nature, too, is a strong presence, though more often an occasion for elegy than for celebration. The poems might touch upon, but do not address, public issues – a shortcoming I regret in an age when speaking out seems more and more important. Over the years, I notice, the voice in the poems has grown quieter, the syntax has changed, the language has become less energetic and more reflective. But the field I think has remained much the same. It has often been said that one writes the same poem over and over again, but in different guises. I'm reminded of a thought of Roberto Calasso's, from his book KA: Stories of the Mind and Gods of India, where he writes: "In the beginning is always something that later gets hidden". It is a genetic intuition that might apply to poetry as well as other forms of life, a germ of first identity that is hidden but not lost in the passage of time. "...an inner persistence toward the source", to borrow from the poet Robert Duncan. This, I think, is the journey one is making when starting a poem. The risk of failure is always there, but the compulsion seems imperative.

The poems in this selection are taken from eight books dating from 1964 to 2001, the better part of forty years. I owe a large debt of thanks to Tony Frazer, a persistent and invaluable force in the dissemination of poetry in our time. It was he who conceived of this book, and played by far the greater part in selecting the poems. Any shortcoming is mine, as these are my words.

David Wevill
Austin, Texas; January, 2003

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