William Carlos Williams, the poet of spring, of the “Sacred light of love”

In March 1963, with a heart of glass, “when three notes of music are enough to make you burst into tears,” Cristina Campo wrote to “Mita” – that is, Margherita Pieracci Harwell – that “William Carlos Williams died a few days ago. Now there is no one left to love, in poetry.” To be precise, William Carlos Williams had died on March 4, in Rutherford, New Jersey, where he was born, 79 years earlier. It would be wrong, however, to believe him to be …