By Edward Hirsch
A significant addition to the literature of poetry, Edward Hirsch’s glowing new paintings is a compilation of kinds, units, teams, routine, isms, aesthetics, rhetorical phrases, and folklore—a publication that each one readers, writers, lecturers, and scholars of poetry will go back to over and over.
Hirsch has delved deeply into the poetic traditions of the realm, returning with an inclusive, foreign compendium. relocating gracefully from the bards of historical Greece to the revolutionaries of Latin the United States, from small formal parts to giant mysteries, he offers considerate definitions for an important poetic vocabulary, imbuing his paintings with a life of scholarship and the heat of a guy dedicated to his art.
Knowing how a poem works is key to unlocking its that means. Hirsch’s entries will deepen readers’ relationships with their favourite poems and open higher degrees of realizing in every one new poem they come upon. Shot via with the passion, authority, and sheer pride that made How to learn a Poem so cherished, A Poet’s Glossary is a brand new vintage.
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Additional resources for A Poet's Glossary
I can feel it! I can feel it. Ah, too much cold beer tonight. Yet this music is hungry, somehow: black with hunger and its intimate erosions. How long it's fed on me! But now I have crawled out of my sleep, wanting you, wanting the cricket behind my right eye to shut up, its black wave to stop breaking down in me. Look it's a shaggy pasture in Nebraska, in the sandhills: a fine, star-riddled August midnight. I woke in my tent with the moon Page 42 drenching through, and wanted you, and crawled out here to let the blackness eat me.
Thus, her voice on the phoneits hunger repressed uneasily into choice etiquette: a proper knife-and-fork tenderness. No longer does Vander Meer wonder what nibbles his will away: she, or time, or memory or if he minds being so deliciously eaten. Better (he supposes) than growing fat on the lie that we know what lasts. Better than feeding love's dim dream of flightlove, created and raised for slaughter. Page 41 Drunk Again in the Dark Grass The cricket noise is a foam of salt, a devouring wave .
One truth: his heart's not in it. Page 80 Beyond Sorrow In the crowd a girl's face not yours but eyes like yours hour-before-dawn cloudless summer sky where I'd rather vanish like the moon than burn without light the way I do my voice a wind that carries toward you stinging briarsmoke words my grief * I don't want to go on grieving like a thawing rock bleeding snowmelt and ghostly steam Page 81 I don't want to go on gnawing my heart like a charred bone I don't want to go on as an open eye that visions of your body rain into like sweet acid * enough to fade like a moon drowned in morning light or to shine only in the dark behind your eyes enough now to love you in other faces and feel my heart silently rise inside me may that rising speak inside you as well luminous pulse like an ocean underground my joy constant beyond sorrow Page 82 Chinook at Midnight This gust from the screen that quickens my skin, with its fragrance of lilacs and the opulence of high, backlit clouds, makes me close my eyes and rock, bough-like, holding a face in mind.