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.
At this hour the soul floats weightlessly
through the city streets, speechless and invisible,
astonished by the smoky blend of grays and golds
seeping out of the air, the dark half-tones
of dusk suddenly filling the urban sky
while the body sits listlessly by the window
sullen and heavy, too exhausted to move,
too weary to stand up or to lie down.