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April 4: David Young’s “The House Was Quiet on a Winter Afternoon”

April 4: David Young’s “The House Was Quiet on a Winter Afternoon”

A poem from David Young’s 2000 collection At the White Window brings us this versatile poet in one of his many possible guises—in this case, courting the stillness, silence, and openness to loss which usher in something entirely other. Such surprising gifts are found throughout Young’s recent “New and Selected” volume, Field of Light and Shadow, which collects his work across more than 40 years.


The House Was Quiet on a Winter Afternoon

Someone was reading in the back,
two travelers had gone somewhere,
maybe to Chicago,

a boy was out walking, muffled up,
alert on the frozen creek,
a sauce was simmering on the stove.

Birds outside at the feeder
threw themselves softly
from branch to branch.

Suddenly I did not want my life
to be any different.
I was where I needed to be.

The birds swirled in the dusk.
The boy came back from the creek.
The dead were holding us up

the way the ice held him,
helping us breathe the way
air helps snowflakes swirl and fall.

And the sadness felt just right,
like a still and moving wave
on which the sun shone brilliantly.


Learn more about Field of Light and Shadow by David Young

Download the broadside: “The House Was Quiet on a Winter Afternoon”


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9 Responses to “April 4: David Young’s “The House Was Quiet on a Winter Afternoon””

  1. Ashley says:

    For the moment that I was reading this I didn’t want my life to be any different, either.

  2. JM says:

    I tried to download the broadside, keep getting an “access denied” page on Scribed. I’ve never been too fond of Scribed in the first place, but I’m not blaming this on them… it’s obviously that someone sent out an incorrect link or has forgotten to make the item public at the correct time.

  3. Steve Cone says:

    “The House . ..” has a nice feel to it. Easy to relate to.

  4. LuAnn Morgan says:

    The link to the broadside doesn’t allow access.

  5. David Lee Garrison says:

    Wonderful, wonderful poem!

  6. Lucille abato says:

    Wistfully hopeful.

  7. R. L. Lyons says:

    David Young’s poem “The House Was Quiet on a Winter Afternoon” echoes the brilliant silence of a perfect winter afternoon. When a moment and its fledgling thoughts are captured as Mr. Young has done, then all living, struggling to survive and even dying has an ideal place in our hearts. His poem takes me back to another cold winter’s day.

    Christmas holiday vacation found my young and eager, trigger finger itching to do that, which made us human a long time ago. A shiny black Daisy Air Rifle was slung over my shoulder as I looked in vain for a target on the wing. The small pond at the end of our country village street often had small patches of open water that birds would visit during the brisk New England winter. A warm deep spring fed that pond; even a cold Nor’easter couldn’t freeze it completely. Nothing but nothing moved down there though. The quiet stillness was my only prize.

    Later at home, I chanced to see a small sparrow shivering on a tree branch in my back garden. Prey, I thought. It was an easy shot from my back porch, but Dad saw me down the bird, and stopped me in my tracks as I scurried toward my quarry.
    “So you killed a defenseless bird.”
    “Yea, did you see that; one shot from a hundred feet. Good shooting wasn’t it?”
    “It might have been good for you, but what about the bird?” He said with a look that told me I was in trouble. “Go in the garage, get the pickaxe and a shovel, then give the poor creature a decent burial.”
    “But Dad the ground’s frozen solid.”
    In his crisp laconic style, he said, “Just do it; learn what humanity is all about.”

    I never fired a rifle since. The silence between those pickaxe blows and thoughts that laid the motionless, warm bird to rest resound in my memory.
    R.L.L.

  8. pcortland says:

    JM and LuAnn: We’ve updated the Scribd link in the post above to one that might work for everyone. Cheers!

  9. LuAnn Morgan says:

    Thanks! I was able to access the broadside and add it to my collection.

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Knopf's Poem-A-Day 2010

April 1: Edward Hirsch’s “Self-portrait”
April 2: Marge Piercy’s “Seven Horses”
April 3: Dan Chiasson’s “Banquette” and “Next”
April 4: Marie Ponsot’s “Transport”
April 5: Alexander Neubauer’s Poetry in Person, featuring Derek Walcott
April 6: Mark Strand’s “Mirror”
April 7: Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Spring”
April 8: Philip Levine’s “MY FATHERS, THE BALTIC”
April 9: Vera Pavlova’s “A Remedy for Insomnia”
April 10: Stan Rice’s “The Fragment of Statue”
April 11: Marina Tsvetayeva’s “Poems Grow”
April 12: Kevin Young’s “EYES + EGGS [1983]“
April 13: Janusz Szuber’s “About a Boy Stirring Jam”
April 14: Frank O’Hara’s “The Day Lady Died”
April 15: Franz Wright’s "My Pew"
April 16: Mary Jo Salter’s “Welcome to Hiroshima”
April 17: Yehuda Halevi’s “A man in your fifties—and you still would be young?”
April 18: Langston Hughes’s “Black Workers” and “Black Dancers”
April 19: W. S. Di Piero’s “In Our Room”
April 20: Robert Wrigley’s “Kissing a Horse”
April 21: Sharon Olds’s “When He Came for the Family” and “The Signal”
April 22: Irving Feldman’s “Stretched Out at Length”
April 23: W.S. Merwin’s “The Furrow”
April 24: David Lehman’s “Poem in the Manner of a Jazz Standard”
April 25: John Keats’s “This Living Hand”
April 26: Laurie Sheck’s A Monster’s Notes
April 27: Garrett Hongo’s “Volcano House”
April 28: Wallace Stevens’s “Large Red Man Reading”
April 29: Izumi Shikibu’s love poems
April 30: Deborah Digges's "Write a Book a Year"