Random House: Bringing You the Best in Fiction, Nonfiction, and Children's Books
Authors
Books
Features
Newletters and Alerts

Buy now from Random House

  • The Living Fire
  • Written by Edward Hirsch
  • Format: Trade Paperback | ISBN: 9780375710032
  • Our Price: $21.00
  • Quantity:
See more online stores - The Living Fire

Buy now from Random House

  • The Living Fire
  • Written by Edward Hirsch
  • Format: Hardcover | ISBN: 9780375415227
  • Our Price: $27.00
  • Quantity:
See more online stores - The Living Fire

Buy now from Random House

  • The Living Fire
  • Written by Edward Hirsch
  • Format: eBook | ISBN: 9780307701336
  • Our Price: $14.99
  • Quantity:
See more online stores - The Living Fire

The Living Fire

    Select a Format:
  • Book
  • eBook

New and Selected Poems

Written by Edward HirschAuthor Alerts:  Random House will alert you to new works by Edward Hirsch

eBook

List Price: $14.99

eBook

On Sale: September 20, 2011
Pages: 192 | ISBN: 978-0-307-70133-6
Published by : Knopf Knopf
The Living Fire Cover

Bookmark,
Share & Shelve:

  • Add This - The Living Fire
  • Email this page - The Living Fire
  • Print this page - The Living Fire
ABOUT THE BOOK ABOUT THE BOOK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PRAISE PRAISE
Tags for this book (powered by Library Thing)
poetry (6)
poetry (6)
Synopsis|Excerpt

Synopsis

A comprehensive selection of one of our most beloved poet’s rich and signifi cant body of work alongside a gathering of “brilliant, deeply pleasurable” new poems (Booklist).

Excerpt

For the Sleepwalkers

Tonight I want to say something wonderful
for the sleepwalkers who have so much faith
in their legs, so much faith in the invisible

arrow carved into the carpet, the worn path
that leads to the stairs instead of the window,
the gaping doorway instead of the seamless mirror.

I love the way that sleepwalkers are willing
to step out of their bodies into the night,
to raise their arms and welcome the darkness,

palming the blank spaces, touching everything.
Always they return home safely, like blind men
who know it is morning by feeling shadows.

And always they wake up as themselves again.
That’s why I want to say something astonishing
like: Our hearts are leaving our bodies.

Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs
flying through the trees at night, soaking up
the darkest beams of moonlight, the music

of owls, the motion of wind- torn branches.
And now our hearts are thick black fists
flying back to the glove of our chests.


We have to learn to trust our hearts like that.
We have to learn the desperate faith of sleepwalkers
who rise out of their calm beds

and walk through the skin of another life.
We have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness
and wake up to ourselves, nourished and surprised.



The Poet At Seven

He could be any seven- year-old on the lawn,
holding a baseball in his hand, ready to throw.
He has the middle- class innocence of an American,

except for his blunt features and dark skin
that mark him as a Palestinian or a Jew,
his forehead furrowed like a question,

his concentration camp eyes, nervous, grim,
and too intense. He has the typical
blood of the exile, the refugee, the victim.

Look at him looking at the catcher for a sign—
so violent and competitive, so unexceptional,
except for an ancestral lamentation,

a shadowy, grief- stricken need for freedom
laboring to express itself through him.



M i l k

My mother wouldn’t be cowed into nursing
and decided that formula was healthier
than the liquid from her breasts.

And so I never sucked a single drop
from the source, a river dried up.
It was always bottled for me.

But one night in my mid- thirties
in a mirrored room off Highway 59
a woman who had a baby daughter

turned to me with an enigmatic smile
and cupped my face in her chapped hands
and tipped her nipple into my mouth.

This happened a long time ago in another city
and it is wrong to tell about it.
It was infantile to bring it up in therapy.

And yet it is one of those moments—
misplaced, involuntary—that swim up
out of the past without a conscience:

She lifts my face and I taste it—
the sudden spurting nectar,
the incurable sweetness that is life.
Edward Hirsch

About Edward Hirsch

Edward Hirsch - The Living Fire

Photo © Michael Lionstar

Edward Hirsch has published eight books of poetry and five books of prose. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.  

Edward Hirsch is represented by Random House Speakers Bureau (www.rhspeakers.com).
Praise

Praise

“The everyday and the otherworldly temper each other in these excellent poems, and American poetry gains new strength as a result.” —The New York Times Book Review

Your E-Mail Address
send me a copy

Recipient's E-Mail Address
(multiple addresses may be separated by commas)

A personal message: