A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
They Never Did
“Man that is born of woman is of few days,” says Job,
“he cometh like a flower and is cut down,” but probably
Job was just mad because half of us can’t get his name right.
Not that he was mistaken: we really don’t live that long
compared to the Greenland shark and the Bowhead whale,
not to mention certain species of tortoise as well as
the ocean quahog, speaking of unpronounceable names,
which is a kind of clam. Why don’t they just say clam.
And it’s worse for the young we send to fight our battles
while we sit home and enjoy our comfortable beds,
hot meals, a change of clothes when we want it.
A World War I poet named Frank Thompson foresaw
his own death in battle when he wrote “So we,
whose life was all before us, / Our hearts with sunlight
filled, / Left in the hills our books and flowers,
Descended and were killed.” In the days we have, let us
not cease to love. Let us be like my friend Rick’s grandma,
who Rick remembers trotting alongside the car as his dad
drove him and his brother down the long driveway from
her house, tapping on a window until one of the boys
rolled it down so she could ask, “Did you get enough pie?”
~~
Try to Make a Life
It’s 1943, and 21-year-old Miriam Friedlander returns
to her family’s Berlin apartment to find her brother
has been taken by the Gestapo along with a mother
who left her only a few keepsakes and a note saying
“Try to make a life.” What does that mean, though?
Friedlander lived, but she never saw her mother again.
Tagore recounts that “I slept and dreamt that life
was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service.
I acted and behold, service was joy.” Sometimes
that means deliberate action. Do you know
what hunger stones are? These are markers found
in German rivers that were carved as early as 1616
during droughts to serve as warnings to future
generations about crop failure, hunger, hardship.
One says, “Wenn du mich siehst, dann weine”
(“If you see me, weep”). But aren’t some acts
of service accidental? A dad took his three-year-old
to the plaza on New York’s 100th Street to visit
the site commemorating the 343 firefighters
who died on 9/11 and hoisted him on his shoulders
so he could see the cards and candles there,
things the little fellow associated with parties,
so he began to sing the “Happy Birthday” song
but stopped, startled, when the people around him
began to smile and weep at his high sweet voice.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 David Kirby

David Kirby is the Robert O. Lawton Distinguished Professor of English at Florida State University. His many books include More Than This and Get Up, Please (LSU, 2019, 2016).
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.
Cleverly beautiful, profound and amusing, as Kirby’s work usually is. The last one served a soft gut punch.
LikeLike
Yes, it does!
>
LikeLike
What delight these poems bring with their sly craft that seems so casual and is utterly brilliant–thank you, David!
LikeLike
What comes to mind as I read these poems is an embrace of celebration, even among darkest memories. Kirby reminds us of kindness, love, and innocent high notes, even in our time of sorrows.
LikeLike
These are so damned good, I can scarcely believe it. Barbara and David in one household? That much talent? There oughta be a law (LOL)!
LikeLiked by 2 people
A lot of talent per square foot in that household!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m slowly taking in and savouring these gorgeous poems with their stellar endings. Thank you for writing (David) and sharing (Michael) these gems.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks, Jan. Savor is a nice word for the experience of reading good poems.
>
LikeLiked by 3 people
These poems made my day.
LikeLiked by 3 people
There is serious joy in these poems.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Oh! Such attentively loving poems, this morning! In a span of time punctuated by devastating news from all quadrants, it gives me joy to see these two poems by the amazing David Kirby. And I desperately NEED infusions of joy, so I am grateful to Kirby and Vox Populi for providing them today. Thank you both…
LikeLiked by 4 people
Thanks, Annie. I believe that David Kirby is a national treasure.
>
LikeLiked by 4 people
Two generous poems from a truly generous human being. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I agree, Marty!
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Wonderful the way David Kirby makes these moments of ordinary life luminous.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Well-said, Mary. I agree!
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
“In the days we have, let us
not cease to love.”
In the days I have, I will not cease to love David’s poems. As well as Barbara’s. Like the best poetry pies ever!
LikeLiked by 4 people
Me too, Laure-Anne!
>
LikeLiked by 3 people
Such an onslaught of wonderful things is David Kirby and his poetry. It all reminds me of what someone once said about the Dictionary—“When I first saw one and opened it, I thought it was a poem about everything.”
LikeLiked by 4 people
Great quotation!
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
I love these poems–especially their spirit.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Their spirit… yes.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
David Kirby makes it look easy to be profound in an off-handed way. I love his work.
LikeLiked by 1 person