one sound...

Jane Hirshfield

Late Prayer

Tenderness does not choose its own uses.
It goes out to everything equally,
circling rabbit and hawk.
Look: in the iron bucket,
a single nail, a single ruby—
all the heavens and hells.
They rattle in the heart and make one sound.


Another poem to anchor my minimalist phase. I’m always fascinated by the less is more power that poetry can possess. Hirshfield, as a writer, never gets in the way of the poem. That’s a quality that very few poets possess.


LKD said...

That painting you posted above scares the crap outta me.

I feel as though I'm looking at a human being turned inside out. Or something that crawled out of one of my mightmares. Or both.

This poem, though, soothes me. I read and feel as though I'm reading a prayer.

The first line is such a door. It swings me wide open.

I've been back here several times to reread this poem. I can't get the ruby and the nail in the bucket out of my head.

Or that rattling in the heart.

Glad you posted this, Sam.

It almost makes me forget the painting.

sam of the ten thousand things said...

Bacon is an acquired taste, Laurel - but I understand your take on the image.

Hirshfield is a powerful writer. Thanks for reading.