Standing Deer
Jane Hirshfield
As the house of a person
in age sometimes grows cluttered
with what is
too loved or too heavy to part with,
the heart may grow cluttered.
And still the house will be emptied,
and still the heart.
As the thoughts of a person
in age sometimes grow sparer,
like a great cleanness come into a room,
the soul may grow sparer;
one sparrow song carves it completely.
And still the room is full,
and still the heart.
Empty and filled,
like the curling half-light of morning,
in which everything is still possible and so why not.
Filled and empty,
like the curling half-light of evening,
in which everything now is finished and so why not.
Beloved, what can be, what was,
will be taken from us.
I have disappointed.
I am sorry. I knew no better.
A root seeks water.
Tenderness only breaks open the earth.
This morning, out the window,
the deer stood like a blessing, then vanished.
From The Lives of the Heart
So, recently I've discovered the poetry of Jane Hirshfield for the first time, and it has been resonating with me, speaking to me.... How did I miss this gem of a poet until now?
I may be sharing more from Jane Hershfield in weeks to come.
Update: Faithful reader and frequent commenter Val, posts another powerful poem by Hirshfield in the comments. Don't miss it. :)
I can honestly say this is one of the most beautiful poems I have ever had the honor to read. Another of my favorites by Hirschfield is this one:
ReplyDeleteSay "death" and the whole room freezes--
even the couches stop moving,
even the lamps.
Like a squirrel suddenly aware it is being looked at.
Say the word continuously,
and things begin to go forward.
Your life takes on
the jerky texture of an old film strip.
Continue saying it, hold it moment after moment inside the mouth,
it becomes another syllable.
A shopping mall swirls around the corpse of a beetle.
Death is voracious, it swallows all the living.
Life is voracious, it swallows all the dead.
neither is ever satisfied, neither is ever filled,
each swallows and swallows the world.
The grip of life is as strong as the grip of death.
(but the vanished, the vanished beloved, o where?)
Wow! That is powerful.... Thank you, Val.
ReplyDeleteThis is some really nice stuff, dense and layered. An unfamiliar (to me) poet, but unmistakable talent.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad to introduce you then, Grizzled. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, as always for chiming in.
Wow. Thanks for sharing that. And thanks for bringing her to my attention. Someone mentioned her to me a while ago and I forgot all about the encounter, and of course didn't write her name down. I will certainly look into her work. You are right--a gem.
ReplyDeleteShe is one of my favorite poets, nice post! But her name is Hirshfield, not Hershfield...
ReplyDelete:-)
Molly,
ReplyDeleteAs with Grizzled, I am happy to have made the introduction. :)
Amy,
Thank you! The change has been made.
I did not know the poet, but both Val's poem quoted and yours really struck a chord with me.
ReplyDeleteSW,
ReplyDeleteI;m so glad,
Thanks.