The facts were told not to speakand were taken away.The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent.

Another is. Copyright © by Jane Hirshfield. Originally published in After (HarperCollins, 2006); all rights reserved. Mostly, it seems you were silent—what could you say? while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit treescontinued to move toward their fruit.

It does this not in forgiveness—between you, there is nothing to forgive—but with the simple nod of a baker at the momenthe sees the bread is finished with transformation. Rating Card. Thanks for that. This Was Once a Love Poem by Jane Hirshfield. I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.Or why each time a new fossil, Earth-like planet, or war.Or that no one kept being there when the doorknob had clearly.

Both comments and pings are currently closed. The scientists who studied the airwere told not to speak of the air,and the ones who worked for the farmerswere silenced,and the ones who worked for the bees. Jane Hirshfield is the author of eight collections of poetry, includingThe Beauty: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015), which was long listed for the National Book Award.She served as a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets from 2012 to 2017.

Comments about It Was Like This: You Were Happy by Jane Hirshfield. No visible tears measure the pilot’s grief. For further details, click COVID-19 in the menu bar above. A voice kept far from feeling is heard as measured.

Dismiss. It doesn’t matter what they will make of youor your days: they will be wrong,they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention. the borrowed city around me is still a city, and standing. The SPL has reopened to the public with a reduced service. She logs the years, the weathers, the tree has left. The man who swallowed a tiny microphoneto record the sounds of his body,not considering beforehand how he might remove it. A million fired-clay bones—animal, human—. In just the past week, a rotund porcupine,who seemed equally startled by me. How easily the large spiders were caught with a clear plastic cup. On the fifth daythe scientists who studied the riverswere forbidden to speakor to study the rivers. between you, there is nothing to forgive—, but with the simple nod of a baker at the moment. Reprinted with the permission of the author. Jane Hirshfield is the author of eight collections of poetry, includingThe Beauty: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015), which was long listed for the National Book Award. And then maybe you can discover something and it becomes a poem. The length and weight and silence of the bereft. It’s like some request for a further and more expansive, elastic, imaginative, less superficial attention.

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