I had to read this one more than once! I really enjoy the challenge of Jane Hirshfield's poems.... though many are well above my understanding. For me, this poem is about looking back at all those good intentions, those plans and desires that you imagined to be central to your core of being, and realizing that those things aren't so important after all. It's about not recognizing the person you used to be. And maybe having no regret in that discovery?
Dream Notebook
Jane
Hirshfield
What will become of these
my many lives,
abandoned each morning abruptly to their own fates?
my many lives,
abandoned each morning abruptly to their own fates?
Of the fox who stopped to look up at
me,
bright death stippling her muzzle,
and announced--clearly, simply--"I was hungry"?
Of the engine left half-disassembled,
the unmendable roofleaks, the waiting packed bags?
bright death stippling her muzzle,
and announced--clearly, simply--"I was hungry"?
Of the engine left half-disassembled,
the unmendable roofleaks, the waiting packed bags?
Cloudbellies of horses drinking at
sunset.
Fierce embraces remembered half a day if at all.
Fierce embraces remembered half a day if at all.
Even the bedside jar of minute and
actual seashells
wavers and thins--
though each was lifted, chosen,
I no longer recall if it was in joy or distraction,
in foreknowledge or false belief.
wavers and thins--
though each was lifted, chosen,
I no longer recall if it was in joy or distraction,
in foreknowledge or false belief.
How much more elusive, these
half-legible scribblings.
If souvenirs at all, they are someone else's.
As each of my memories,
it seems, is destined to be someone else's,
If souvenirs at all, they are someone else's.
As each of my memories,
it seems, is destined to be someone else's,
to belong to a woman who
looks faintly like me and whom I wish well,
as one would any stranger passed in a shop, on the street.
looks faintly like me and whom I wish well,
as one would any stranger passed in a shop, on the street.
2 comments:
This is said gently, but it is a tough, tough piece. I read very little hope within that poem. I presume it addresses aging ---the loss of memory, a sense that one doesn't matter. But I feel the poet is in the midst of a depression here.
I did not find the poem to be depressing. I can not remember all of the wonderful moments of my life, but I treasure what I do remember. I become a new woman almost every day. Who I was as a child is not who I am today but I love that little girl. I sense a security in letting go the past, but not mourning loss of the past. The past made me who I am today, so I don't need to remember all of it. The unforgettable moments in my life such as seeing the reflections of horses enjoying the simple pleasure of water are now part of who I am. I feel that I have shared myself with others so that when it is time to leave nothing will be lost.
That is how I felt as I read the poem.
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