tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176594457517675932024-03-14T03:33:56.475-07:00EDWARD HIRSCHAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09040418870178489211noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17659445751767593.post-5811218645441313902013-01-04T03:25:00.001-08:002013-01-05T02:25:38.602-08:00LAY BACK THE DARKNESS...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <u>Lay back the darkness</u></span></b></span><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">My father in the night shuffling from room to room<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">on an obscure mission through the hallway.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">Help me, spirits, to penetrate his dream<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">and ease his restless passage.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">Lay back the darkness for a salesman<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">who could charm everything but the shadows,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">an immigrant who stands on the threshold<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">of a vast night<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">without his walker or his cane<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">and cannot remember what he meant to say,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">though his right arm is raised, as if in prophecy,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">while his left shakes uselessly in warning.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">My father in the night shuffling from room to room<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">is no longer a father or a husband or a son,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">but a boy standing on the edge of a forest<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">listening to the distant cry of wolves,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">to wild dogs,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">to primitive wing beats shuddering in the treetops. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;">Lay Back the Darkness</span></em> is
Edward Hirsch’s sixth poetry collection. The themes of insomnia, survival,
and art are introduced in this collection. Hirsch would revisit these themes
in subsequent collections. It is obvious that the poet identifies with those
who struggle to find purpose in living and who refuse to give up the fight to
survive. Hirsch marvels at the resiliency of humans and recognizes how
hard-won the idea of going on can be in the face of horrendous evil. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 17.85pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 7.5pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;">Lay Back the
Darkness</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>ends with “The Hades Sonnets.” This sequence includes a
cycle of ten sonnets. At the so-called midpoint of his life, Hirsch
understands the need to come to terms with how death fits into the cycle of
life, to appreciate both the light and the darkness.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 17.85pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 7.5pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">The poet sets out to
write heartfelt verse without pandering to cheap sentiment. In the title
poem, Hirsch speaks of the tragedy that befell his elderly father, who
suffered with Alzheimer’s disease. In the night he is shuffling from room to
room on an obscure mission, He wants a nice sleep for his father but he is
not able to help him out in anyway. The poet wants that his father being a
salesman could charm everyone except the darkness of his life. His father is
not able to remember anything what he meant to say. With such images as “My
father in the night shuffling from room to room/ is no longer a father or a
husband or a son,/ but a boy standing on the edge of a forest/ listening to
the distant cry of wolves,/ to wild dogs,/ to primitive wingbeats shuddering
in the treetops,” the poet expresses his frustration and anger at what has
happened to his father. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;">“Lay Back the Darkness”</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">can be looked at as an important transitional
collection for Hirsch. The collection should stand as a foreshadowing of a
new maturity that will serve him both as a man and most certainly as a poet.</span><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09040418870178489211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17659445751767593.post-20375089839700794182013-01-04T03:22:00.001-08:002013-01-05T02:18:16.049-08:00WHAT THE LAST EVENING WILL BE LIKE....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b> <u>What the Last Evening Will Be Like</u></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You're sitting at a small bay window<br />
in an empty café by the sea.<br />
It's nightfall, and the owner is locking up,<br />
though you're still hunched over the radiator,<br />
which is slowly losing warmth.<br />
<br />
Now you're walking down to the shore<br />
to watch the last blues fading on the waves.<br />
You've lived in small houses, tight spaces—<br />
the walls around you kept closing in—<br />
but the sea and the sky were also yours.<br />
<br />
No one else is around to drink with you<br />
from the watery fog, shadowy depths.<br />
You're alone with the whirling cosmos.<br />
Goodbye, love, far away, in a warm place.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Night is endless here, silence infinite.</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hirsch has written
this Poem in a very simple and elegant way. It has a deep meaning if one try to understand. In the starting of the poem we will find that how a person’s
life is. They are with everyone but still they are alone. The poet has
described the same thing over here that even though it’s a last evening what a person
expects and feels. “The poet describes what peace of mind we want even though it’s
a last evening of our life”. This poem can be felt by everyone who will read it
deeply. </span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The poem is about that we expect in our life.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He is sitting on the window in an empty cafe near by the sea
and the owner wants to close it as its nightfall. Now he is walking down to the
shore where he can watch the last blues fading on the waves. He has lived on
the small house but when he is seeing the sea and the sky it’s totally ours. He
is not feeling the loneliness although no one is there with him even to have a
drink. He is happy to spend his last evening of his life in such a nice place.
He knows that even no one is there with him but the sea and the sky were always
going to be there with him. Seeing the sea he is totally calm and even he has
no regret in his life being alone in the last evening. Hirsch has amazingly
written this poem giving a lovely message to everyone. I came up with different
feelings the more times I read it. The last line of the poem which will touch
your heart is... "G</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">oodbye, love, far away, in a warm place.</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">Night is endless here, silence infinite.</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white;"> </span>” </b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09040418870178489211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17659445751767593.post-52664773414699174812013-01-04T03:12:00.002-08:002013-01-05T02:18:56.458-08:00FOR THE SLEEPWALKERS..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>For the
Sleepwalkers</u><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Tonight I
want to say something wonderful<br />
for the sleepwalkers who have so much faith<br />
in their legs, so much faith in the invisible<br />
<br />
arrow carved into the carpet, the worn path<br />
that leads to the stairs instead of the window,<br />
the gaping doorway instead of the seamless mirror.<br />
<br />
I love the way that sleepwalkers are willing<br />
to step out of their bodies into the night,<br />
to raise their arms and welcome the darkness,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>palming
the blank spaces, touching everything.<br />
Always they return home safely, like blind men<br />
who know it is morning by feeling shadows.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And
always they wake up as themselves again.<br />
That's why I want to say something astonishing<br />
like: <i>Our hearts are leaving our bodies.</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><br />
Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs<br />
flying through the trees at night, soaking up<br />
the darkest beams of moonlight, the music</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>of owls, the motion of wind-torn branches.<br />
And now our hearts are thick black fists<br />
flying back to the glove of our chests.</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br />
We have to learn to trust our hearts like that.<br />
We have to learn the desperate faith of sleep-<br />
walkers who rise out of their calm beds<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br />
and walk through the skin of another life.<br />
We have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness<br />
and wake up to ourselves, nourished and surprised.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>
~
Edward Hirsch ~</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>After reading this poem didn't even want to move on and read
the rest of the poems.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span>For the
Sleepwalkers by Edward Hirsch had such an air of imagination and intrigue
that caught me up and didn't let go. I find the idea of people who are out of
the norm and who are envied because of that fact very interesting. This poem
also gave me a strong sense that it was about God which I liked. (I don’t know
if it is about God, but that is how I saw it.)<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
When I read this poem, I thought of the sleepwalkers as people who have such an
amazing faith in God that they are essentially fearless. “…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 thought if these lines as
saying that the sleepwalkers go places that no one else is willing to go, to
the places that are not as familiar or as safe (I thought of some of the places
the sleepwalkers go being like death. They have so much faith that even death doesn't scare them; it is just another adventure). And always they wake up
themselves again, reminded me of when people tell you that having faith isn't about losing yourself, but about broadening your understanding of yourself
through your faith. So when the sleepwalkers get back from their “journey,”
they are always still themselves, just with more insight and experience.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
I love how in the end, instead of just talking about the sleepwalkers, Hirsch
starts saying, “we,” and, “our,” and pulls himself and the audience into the
plot. “Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs….We have to learn to trust
our hearts….” The sleepwalkers are just like us and, therefore, we can be like
them, free, fearless, and faithful. </b></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09040418870178489211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17659445751767593.post-66472153967734982472013-01-03T22:52:00.000-08:002013-01-05T02:49:20.529-08:00STYLE OF WRITING<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br />
</b></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #505050; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Hirsch, whose own
lyric poetry yokes together an intrinsic intellect and a profound emotional
depth, has been an unflagging advocate for the art. For more than twenty-five
years in essays and newspaper columns, at conferences and festivals, in
classrooms and auditoriums, at galas and fundraisers he has proselytized,
taught, and championed poets and poetry of every ethnic and aesthetic stripe. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Hirsch is at his best when he has not become weighted down by
sentimentality. The poet sets out to write heartfelt verse without pandering to
cheap sentiment. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">This terrific formal scope reflects the wanderings of a poet who travels
vast distances in his poems, inward and outward, across time and space, between
praise and lamentation. </span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><b style="background-color: white;">Hirsch has written elegiac and tender poems about his
childhood, his family, and his Jewish heritage. He has also written poems that
wield a shrewd historical consciousness, taking on such subjects as the
devastating European plague of the fourteenth century, torture in the twentieth
century, and the Chicago fire of 1871. His poems have traversed the gritty,
urban decay of the American city; the sunstruck peaks of Greece; the windswept,
scoured absence of the early plains; and numerous other real, imagined, and
mythic landscapes. He has written heartrending elegies and soaring homages to
artistic geniuses as varied as Art Pepper, Paul Celan, and Georgia O'Keefe. In
fact, Hirsch's poetry tends to be a gathering place for a whole cast of
literary and cultural figures, from Simone Weil to Henry James, from Wallace
Stevens to Orpheus.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">Hirsch believes in the poetic craft, he does not believe in form
over content. For him, form must serve the subtle purpose of exposing the heart
of the matter. He does not wish, though, to make his journey and the reader’s
journey so obvious that the poem becomes nothing more than an advertisement. He
has spoken often of the duty required of the “informed” reader. The reader not
only must carry the poet’s “message home” but also “must decipher it as a
linguistic event, as a rhythmic group of words packed with salt, as a last will
and testament.”</b></span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09040418870178489211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17659445751767593.post-35342312607178833202013-01-03T22:48:00.001-08:002013-01-05T04:10:23.930-08:00LIFE OF EDWARD HIRSCH<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Edward Hirsch is an American poet and critic who wrote a
national bestseller about reading poetry. He has published eight books of poems
which brings together thirty-five years of work. He is president of the John
Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation in New York City.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Hirsch was born in Chicago on January 20,1950.
He had a childhood involvement with poetry,which he later explored at Grinnell
College and the University of Pennsylvania, where he received a </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">PhD in </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">folklore.</span></span></span></b></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br />
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Hirsch was a professor of English at Wayne State
University. In 1985, he joined the faculty at the University of Houston, where
he spent 17 years as a professor in the Creative Writing Program and Department of English.<br />
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Hirsch is a well-known advocate for poetry whose
essays have been published in the American Poetry Review. He wrote a weekly
column on poetry for The Washington Post Book World from 2002-2005, which
resulted in his book Poet’s Choice (2006). He also edits the series “The
Writer’s World".<br />
<br />
</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Hirsch's first collection of poems, For the
Sleepwalkers, received the Lavan Younger Poets Award from the Academy of
American Poets and the Delmore Schwartz Memorial Award from New York
University. His second book, Wild Gratitude, received the National Book Critics
Circle Award in 1986. He has also received an Ingram Merrill Foundation Award,
a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, the Rome Prize from the American
Academy in Rome, a Pablo Neruda Presidential Medal of Honor, and the American
Academy of Arts and Letters Award for Literature. He is a Chancellor of the
Academy of American Poets. Hirsch’s book, How to Read a Poem and fall in Love
with Poetry (1999), was a surprise bestseller and remains in print through
multiple printings.</b></span></span></span></div>
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