Special Orders

I've written about Edward Hirsch before, but only his prose. I hadn't read any of his poetry until last week when his latest collection, Special Orders, was finally waiting for me at the library. I like the book- I like many of the individual poems and I like the way they all flow together to form a narrative of his life.

This one stood out for me immediately. It's accessible but also made me think a lot over some of his word choices. I think it captures a bit how uncomfortable it can feel to be an American.

Krakow, 6 A.M.

I sit in a corner of the town square
and let the ancient city move through me.
I sip a cup of coffee, write a little,
and watch an old woman sweeping the stairs.

Poland is waking up now: blackbirds patrol
the cobblestones, nuns rush by in habits,
and the clock tower strikes six times.
Day breaks into the night's reverie.

The morning is as fresh and clean
as a butcher's apron hanging in a shop.
Now it is pressed and white, but soon
it will be spotted with blood.

Europe is waking up, but America
is going to sleep, a gangly teenager
sprawled out on a comfortable bed.
He has large hands and feet

and his dreams are innocent and bloodthirsty.
I want to throw a blanket over his shoulders
and tuck him in again, like a child,
now that his sleep is no longer untroubled.

I'm alone here in the Old World
where poetry matters, old hatreds seethe,
and history wears a crown of thorns.
Fresh bread wafts from the ovens

and daily life follows its own inexorable
course, like a drunk weaving slowly
across a courtyard, or a Dutch maid
throwing open the heavy shutters.

I suppose there's always a shopgirl
stationed in the doorway, a beggar taking up
his corner post, and newspapers fluttering
from store to store with bad news.

Poetry, too, seeks a place in the world-
feasting on darkness but needing light,
taking confession, listening for bells,
for the first strains of music in a town square.

Europe is going to work now-
look at those two businessmen hurrying
past the statue of the national bard-
as her younger brother sleeps

on the other side of the ocean,
innocent and violent, dreaming of glory.

NPR has a nice interview with Hirsch- I really, really recommend it. He reads several poems from this collection, including another one of my favorites, Self-portrait. I was familiar with his background but I was still surprised by his voice, his accent. I guess I naively expect all American poets to sound like Boston Brahmins.

Comments

[iliana]

I love this... I think my favorite part is towards the end, "poetry, too, seeks a place in this world..."
Thank you for sharing this. I'm not familiar with his poetry but will be looking out for this collection.

[Greer]

Hi Iliana, I'm so glad you like it too. I'll be interested to read your thoughts if you do get the collection.

[Melissa Donovan]

I really like this poem! Generally, I prefer shorter poems but this one kept me interested all the way through. Thank you for sharing it with us.

[jc]

That's the sort of poetry I can relate to.

I can visualise the scene very clearly in my mind - like a painting, photograph, or I suppose to be completely accurate in this case - like a short movie.

I really like that in the description of America as a gangly teenager, the emphasis is on the hands and feet - it would have been so obvious to have mentioned the 'mouth' of a typical teen.

But businessmen going to work at 6am??? That's something I find hard to imagine in Europe....

Merci mon ami.

PS : Never ever be uncomfortable about where you are from or who/what you are.

[Greer]

Hi Melissa, This is one of the longest poems in the book, most are quite a bit shorter. I'm happy you liked it too.

And JC, I liked the same thing, the 'gangly teenager' image. I know it isn't a good thing to feel uncomfortable about where you are from, but I find it hard not to sometimes. I mean, at home I know I am someone who does not own a gun, walks and takes the train, conserves resources etc, but when I travel I find that I am so aware of being from this very violent, gas-guzzling place, a place that leaves such a big footprint and isn't always responsible about it. I think that's one reason this poem spoke to me.

I agree about the businessmen at 6am... maybe he'd been sitting there a while by the time they came along :).

[FiL]

His language doesn't quite do Krakow justice - it's a marvelous city ingrained with centuries of struggle, suffering, culture, learning, and aspirations. I found his description fell short of capturing this, which I believe is what he was trying to do.

Er, now I feel like a petty party pooper. Delete or post, which shall it be? Oh, alright then...

[Greer]

No one could ever accuse you of being a party pooper, FiL! I'm glad you posted your comment.

It's interesting because this poem is pretty different than most of the others in the book, which are much more personal. Though he does have one about Houston which I will now have to reread.

Anyway, I plan to post one more next week so we'll see what you think :).