I didn’t mean to be reading two books of poetry by Jane Hirshfield, but when I came across her latest at a local bookstore two weeks ago, I bought it and figured I’d add it to the in-process stack (which contains 25 books right now). That might be a record for me, but it is what it is, and I’m making it work, by paying attention to each in turn and being satisfied with a slow pace and getting to only so many books each day. This morning, I read from each of the two: The Beauty, published in 2015, and Ledger, published in 2020. “My Corkboard” from The Beauty is one of those poems that invite you to consider something mundane in such a way that you end up surprised you never saw the significance on your own.
My Corkboard
However many holes are in you,
always there’s room for another.However much you carry,
you can hold more.Like a saint making a joke,
imperfection of surface
suits you.
Your seams
remind of quiet techtonic plates.Chthonic corkboard
always beneath
even when hung on your vertical side,
your waiting thumbtacks
seem to me
a glittering affection,
the mi casa, su casa
of a door standing open in every weather
of invitation.I apologize to you, corkboard—
I, who would like
to be more like you in spirit,
cover you over
with maps, plans, bills.Even these words that praise you
further disguise you.
About the photo: the weather warmed up again, and it made for a spooky, foggy Halloween morning. Perfect.
