Edward Hirsch Poems
|1.||A Greek Island||4/2/2015|
|2.||The Skokie Theater||1/20/2012|
|3.||I'M Going To Start Living Like A Mystic||1/20/2012|
|5.||What The Last Evening Will Be Like||1/20/2012|
|7.||After A Long Insomniac Night||1/20/2012|
|8.||In Memoriam Paul Celan||1/20/2003|
|9.||Early Sunday Morning||1/20/2012|
|11.||Lay Back The Darkness||1/20/2012|
|13.||The Widening Sky||1/20/2012|
|17.||Edward Hopper And The House By The Railroad (1925)||1/20/2012|
|18.||For The Sleepwalkers||1/20/2012|
Saturday morning in late March.
I was alone and took a long walk,
though I also carried a book
of the Alone, which companioned me.
The day was clear, unnaturally clear,
like a freshly wiped pane of glass,
a window over the water,
and blue, preternaturally blue,
like the sky in a Magritte painting,
and cold, vividly cold, so that
you could clap your hands and remember
winter, which had left a few moments ago—
if you strained you could almost see it
disappearing over the hills in a black parka.
Spring was coming but hadn't arrived yet.
Early Sunday Morning
I used to mock my father and his chums
for getting up early on Sunday morning
and drinking coffee at a local spot
but now I’m one of those chumps.
No one cares about my old humiliations
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.