In Special Orders, the renowned poet Edward Hirsch brings us a new series of tightly crafted poems, work that demonstrates a thrilling expansion of his tone and subject matter. It is with a mixture of grief and joy that Hirsch examines what he calls "the minor triumphs, the major failures" of his life so far, in lines that reveal a startling frankness in the man composing them, a fearlessness in confronting his own internal divisions: "I lived between my heart and my head, / like a married couple who can't get along," he writes in "Self-portrait." These poems constitute a profound, sometimes painful self-examination, by the end of which the poet marvels at the sense of expectancy and transformation he feels. His fifteen-year-old son walking on Broadway is a fledgling about to sail out over the treetops; he has a new love, passionately described in "I Wish I Could Paint You"; he is ready to live, he tells us, "solitary, bittersweet, and utterly free."
More personal than any of his previous collections, Special Orders is Edward Hirsch's most significant book to date.
The highway signs pointed to our happiness;
the greasy spoons and gleaming truck stops
were the stations of our pilgrimage.
Wasn't that us staggering past the riverboats,
eating homemade fudge at the county fair
and devouring each other's body?
They come back to me now, delicious love,
the times my sad heart knew a little sweetness.
from "The Sweetness"
This seventh from the popular Hirsch (Lay Back the Darkness) brings its demotic, heartfelt, autobiographical pieces together to form a picture of Hirsch's whole life, with sadness always visible, but joy in the foreground. He begins with his immigrant grandfather,/ an old man from the Old World; remembers the second-story warehouse where the young poet filled orders for the factory downstairs; and moves on to his own life as a struggling, and then a successful, writer, teacher and father. Jewish and Yiddish heritage, in memory and on canvas (Chaim Soutine, Marc Chagall) pervades the first half of the volume--Gone are the towns where the shoemaker was a poet,/ the watchmaker a philosopher, the barber a troubadour. The second half follows Hirsch as an adult, to Houston (where he taught for many years) and back to New York City, where he now heads the Guggenheim Foundation. Closing poems present a passionate new love affair: I wish I could paint you,/ your lanky body, lithe, coltish, direct. No one will question Hirsch's sincerity nor his commitment to lyric tradition. Many will be moved by the frankness and vulnerability of these difficult self-assessments: I'm now more than halfway to the grave/ but I'm not half the man I meant to become. (Mar.)
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March 09, 2008
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Excerpt from Special Orders by Edward Hirsch
Branch Library I wish I could find that skinny, long-beaked boy who perched in the branches of the old branch library. He spent the Sabbath flying between the wobbly stacks and the flimsy wooden tables on the second floor, pecking at nuts, nesting in broken spines, scratching notes under his own corner patch of sky. I'd give anything to find that birdy boy again bursting out into the dusky blue afternoon with his satchel of scrawls and scribbles, radiating heat, singing with joy. A Few Encounters With My Face 1 Who is that moonlit stranger staring at me through the fog of a bathroom mirror 2 Wrinkles form a parenthesis around the eyes dry wells of sadness at three a.m. 3 The forehead furrows in a scowl a question mark puzzled since childhood 4 Faint scrawl of chickenpox and measles broken asthma nights breathing steam 5 Hair thinning like his grandfather’s all those bald ancestral thoughts 6 The nose a ram’s horn a scroll as long and bumpy as the centuries 7 Greed of a Latvian horse thief surprised by the lights 8 Primitive double chin divided in two a mother and father divorcing 9 Deep red pouches and black bags a life given to sleeplessness 10 Earnest grooves ironic blotches secret scars memories medallions of middle age 11 It would take a Cubist to paint this dark face splitting in three directions 12 Identify these features with rapture and despair one part hilarity two parts grief Charades We waited on two sides of the subway tracks: you were riding uptown and I was heading downtown to a different apartment, after all these years. We were almost paralyzed, as anxious travelers surged around us in waves, and then you started to pantomime. First, you touched your right eye. Then you palmed your left knee. Finally, you pointed at me. I made of a sign of understanding back to you but the train suddenly roared into the station and you disappeared. From the Hardcover edition.