#Drew Hirshfield

[frontmezzjunkies]

Luna Stage's Polite Political Play "Mrs. Stern Wanders the Prussian State Library" at WP Theater Off-Broadway

#mrssternplay #frontmezzjunkies reviews: #LunaStage's #MrsSternWandersThe PrussianStateLibrary by #JennyLynBader dir: #AriLauraKreith w/ #EllaDershowitz #BrettTemple #DrewHirshfield #OffBroadway at #WPTheater @mrssternplay @LunaStage @WPTheater

Ella Dershowitz and Brett Temple in Luna Stage’s Mrs. Stern Wanders the Prussian State Library. Photo by Valerie Terranova. The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Luna Stage’s Mrs. Stern Wanders the Prussian State Library By Ross “Please.” “Please.” “Please,” asks the oh-so polite imprisoning Gestapo officer who has officially arrested a young Jewish intellectual woman for suspicious wandering…

[seemoreandmore]

When your life looks back-- As it will, at itself, at you--what will it say? Inch of colored ribbon cut from the spool. Flame curl, blue-consuming the log it flares from. Bay leaf. Oak leaf. Cricket. One among many. Your life will carry you as it did always, With ten fingers and both palms, With horizontal ribs and upright spine, With its filling and emptying heart, That wanted only your own heart, emptying, filled, in return. You gave it. What else could do? Immersed in air or in water. Immersed in hunger or anger. Curious even when bored. Longing even when running away. "What will happen next?"-- the question hinged in your knees, your ankles, in the in-breaths even of weeping. Strongest of magnets, the future impartial drew you in. Whatever direction you turned toward was face to face. No back of the world existed, No unseen corner, no test. No other earth to prepare for. This, your life had said, its only pronoun. Here, your life had said, its only house. Let, your life had said, its only order. And did you have a choice in this? You did-- Sleeping and waking, the horses around you, the mountains around you, The buildings with their tall, hydraulic shafts. Those of your own kind around you-- A few times, you stood on your head. A few times, you chose not to be frightened. A few times, you held another beyond any measure. A few times, you found yourself held beyond any measure. - Jane Hirshfield

[dk-thrive]

I thought I would stay a few weeks. I had no idea I would stay for eight years.

So from childhood, I wrote poems. As soon as I learned how to write, I was writing poems. My mother pulled out a sheet of paper when my first small press book came out, saying — one of those big sheets where you’re just learning how to write, brown sheet with the wide, blue lines on it. And it said, I want to be a writer when I grow up.

So that was what I had always wanted, and that was what I had aimed myself toward. But you can’t just be a writer. You have to be a person. And I knew that I would never be much of a writer at all if I did not know much more about how to be a human being...

What drew me towards it is almost inexplicable. I hardly knew what it was when I first went down the road to see it. I had read Japanese and Chinese poems when I was in college. The first book I ever bought for myself was a book of haiku. I was drawn to that particular way of parsing the world. There was something in it that felt, to me, a gate I wanted to go through.

And when I first went, I thought I would stay a few weeks. I had no idea I would stay for eight years.

— Jane Hirshfield, from an Interview with Ezra Klein in The New York Times, March 3, 2023

[inventoryshimmers]

One ran, her nose to the ground, a rusty shadow neither hunting nor playing.

One stood; sat; lay down; stood again.

One never moved, except to turn her head a little as we walked. Finally we drew too close, and they vanished. The woods took them back as if they had never been. I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass. But we kept walking, speaking as strangers do when becoming friends. There is more and more I tell no one, strangers nor loves. This slips into the heart without hurry, as if it had never been. And yet, among the trees, something has changed. Something looks back from the trees, and knows me for who I am.

- "Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight," Jane Hirshfield

[theloniousbach]

I’M AT SMALL’S FOR THE PIANO PLAYER

Orrin Evans with JOSH EVANS and Simon Moullier, Jeremiah Edwards, and Chris Beck with Melvis Santa too, 4 JUNE 2023

Marc Copland with STEVE LASPINA with Dave Barlow, Bill Drewes, and Jeff Hirshfield, 3 JUNE 2023

An aim of these shows was to stymie the default to trios, yet here I am drawn to gigs with favorite pianists, Orrin Evans and Marc Copland.

Though I knew him first as the new guy in The Bad Plus 2.0, ORRIN EVANS’ own work, in particular the Captain Black Big Band, is often expressed with horns. He is a skilled accompanist and arranger as much as a soloist where his playing is equally complex and compelling. He swings, but not for its own sake; his tunes sing, but aside for The Red Door, they aren’t catchy for their own sake.

Here he was with Josh Evans, a worthy young (under 40) trumpeter, who adds to gigs; Christian McBride’s New Jawn is where I saw him first but he’s at Small’s often enough as a sideman. His playing is clean, rich, and not forced. He’s a capable leader with an evidently rich sense of the deep book, here with tunes by Mulgrew Miller (Eastern Joy Dance was lyrical for one and all) and Kenny Garrett. The latter featured wordless vocals by Melvis Santa as another horn. His own compositions are fine vehicles too. He gives room to his players and four tunes total was about right. Simon Moullier added vibes to the front line and, after a slow start—perhaps my ears as much as his playing, he settled in. Jeremiah Edwards is a new bassist in town and he’ll get work. I’m pretty sure it was with O. Evans I first saw Chris Beck. I don’t see him all that often, but he’s a worthy player. And all of them, including the leader, were in service of the tunes.

Again, I was there for Orrin Evans and I was not disappointed, except perhaps that he didn’t solo enough. But that rather misses the point. He is very good at being in the band. Even TBP, though a trio, called on him to serve the tunes, mostly Reid Anderson’s and Dave King’s, and the band sound. His own work, as I’ve come to appreciate it, is expressed through the horns as much as his solos which are rich but knotty. No, he accompanies through parallel commentaries and listens big.

I had previously heard MARC COPLAND exclusively in trios, his own and with the formidable Gary Peacock. He’s my kind of player, frankly more so than Evans. But here he was as part of the STEVE LASPINA REUNION QUARTET. Reunion? Laspina is a recognizable enough name on bass as is even more so drummer Jeff Hirshfield, but the horns were new to me. Dave Barlow’s trumpet was appealing and strong, but I really liked Billy Drewes’ dry tone on tenor. This was evidently a working band in the mid ‘90s to mid ‘00s centered around LaSpina’s straight ahead compositions which maybe then, but certainly now were taken at a uniformly leisurely pace. They are my age or younger, so I accept the irony of my mild complaint that they sounded like a bunch of old guys trying to recapture their youth though in comfortable fit clothes.

So what about COPLAND as a band pianist? Not surprisingly he soloed well though the material didn’t tax him, harmonically nor certainly rhythmically. His accompaniment was professional and to the point and his soloists were too. But I’ll take my Copland in a trio where he can stretch out.

[luckynumbersevenseven]

Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight

Jane Hirshfield - 1953-

One ran,

her nose to the ground,

a rusty shadow

neither hunting nor playing.

One stood; sat; lay down; stood again.

One never moved,

except to turn her head a little as we walked.

Finally we drew too close,

and they vanished.

The woods took them back as if they had never been.

I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass.

But we kept walking,

speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.

There is more and more I tell no one,

strangers nor loves.

This slips into the heart

without hurry, as if it had never been.

And yet, among the trees, something has changed.

Something looks back from the trees,

and knows me for who I am.

—1995

[whisperthatruns]

Moonrise June 19 1876

I awoke in the midsummer not-to-call night, | in the white and the walk of the morning: The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe | of a fingernail held to the candle, Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless, Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, | of dark Manaefa the mountain; A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, | entangled him, not quit utterly. This was the prized, the desirable sight, | unsought, presented so easily, Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, | eyelid and eyelid of slumber.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889), as pub. in Ten Windows: How Great Poems Transform the World, by Jane Hirshfield (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015)

[april-is]

April 17, 2020: The Understudy, Bridget Lowe

The Understudy Bridget Lowe High spring. The sounds at their utmost registers. I am building a language with my bike. Shame makes the wheels go, shame pumps its sick jet fuel. I am flying over tiny hills with moats of purple flowers. My fantasy is evidence. My fantasy is a white skull gleaming through a bed of mulch. I let go of the handlebars and beat my chest with shame’s gorilla fist until the trees get in my way. Nancy Drew before me, Nancy Drew behind me, Nancy Drew on all sides of me, Lord hear my prayer. = On this day in: 2019: Against Dying, Kaveh Akbar  2018: Close Out Sale, Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz  2017: Things That Have Changed Since You Died, Laura Kasischke  2016: Percy, Waiting for Ricky, Mary Oliver 2015: My Heart, Kim Addonizio 2014: My Skeleton, Jane Hirshfield 2013: Catch a Body, Oliver Bendorf 2012: No, Mark Doty 2011: from Narrative: Ali, Elizabeth Alexander 2010: Baseball Canto, Lawrence Ferlinghetti 2009: Nothing but winter in my cup, Alice George 2008: Poppies in October, Sylvia Plath 2007: I Imagine The Gods, Jack Gilbert 2006: An Offer Received In This Morning’s Mail, Amy Gerstler 2005: The Last Poem In The World, Hayden Carruth

[wordsthroughmyveins]

three foxes by the edge of the field at twilight

One ran, her nose to the ground, a rusty shadow neither hunting nor playing.

One stood; sat; lay down; stood again. One never moved, except to turn her head a little as we walked.

Finally we drew too close, and they vanished. The woods took them back as if they had never been.

I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass. But we kept walking, speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.

There is more and more I tell no one, strangers nor loves. This slips into the heart without hurry, as if it had never been.

And yet, among the trees, something has changed. Something looks back from the trees, and knows me for who I am.

(Jane Hirshfield)

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[ndwyf]

@folkartoutsiderart Morris Hirshfield (1872-194) “Angora Cat” (1937-1939) Oil on Canvas 22.2” x 27.25” Collection of the Museum of Modern Art (From Jennifer Borum’s Essay for The Outsider Art Fair website ) Morris Hirshfield was a classic American Outsider Artist, whose vivid, formally inventive paintings earned him unprecedented notoriety in America in the late 1930s. Born in Poland in 1872, Hirshfield was known to have carved a sculpture for his synagogue, the only record of his art activity before he emigrated to the United States at the age of 18. He settled in New York City, and worked in a women’s coat factory before going into business with his brother. They initially designed and manufactured women’s coats, but would go on to become a leading manufacturers of women’s slippers. Hirshfield retired in 1935, as a result of increasing health problems. Not one to remain idle, Hirshfield began to paint, favoring oil on canvas. He devoted most of his attention to painting young women, portraying them in domestic, or otherwise intimate settings. He also painted both wild and domestic animals. His monumental figures typically occupy the center of each composition, and although hauntingly static, also radiate an uncanny visual energy. Hirshfield’s women are often presented in meticulously styled dresses, and when depicted nude, they are foregrounded by richly layered backdrop, or inventive framing devices. His animals loom in quasi-natural settings that dissolve into abstraction. Although by his own admission, the artist intended to paint common themes, the results were inevitably fantastical. Hirshfield’s self-taught penchant for abstract figuration and radically flattened compositions soon drew the attention of modern art aficionados. New York dealer and curator Sidney Janis was instrumental in bringing Hirshfield to the attention of the artworld. MOMA included two of his paintings in a group show in1939, and honored him with a solo show in 1943. Loved by modernists for his self-taught innovation, he might best be remembered as the American Henri Rousseau. - Jenifer P. Borum (at Paris, France) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQXlSlBt1yQ/?utm_medium=tumblr

[thesefevereddays]

When Your Life Looks Back

By Jane Hirshfield

When your life looks back--

As it will, at itself, at you--what will it say?

Inch of colored ribbon cut from the spool.

Flame curl, blue-consuming the log it flares from.

Bay leaf. Oak leaf. Cricket. One among many.

Your life will carry you as it did always,

With ten fingers and both palms,

With horizontal ribs and upright spine,

With its filling and emptying heart,

That wanted only your own heart, emptying, filled, in return.

You gave it. What else could do?

Immersed in air or in water.

Immersed in hunger or anger.

Curious even when bored.

Longing even when running away.

"What will happen next?"--

the question hinged in your knees, your ankles,

in the in-breaths even of weeping.

Strongest of magnets, the future impartial drew you in.

Whatever direction you turned toward was face to face.

No back of the world existed,

No unseen corner, no test. No other earth to prepare for.

This, your life had said, its only pronoun.

Here, your life had said, its only house.

Let, your life had said, its only order.

And did you have a choice in this? You did--

Sleeping and waking,

the horses around you, the mountains around you,

The buildings with their tall, hydraulic shafts.

Those of your own kind around you--

A few times, you stood on your head.

A few times, you chose not to be frightened.

A few times, you held another beyond any measure.

A few times, you found yourself held beyond any measure.

Mortal, your life will say,

As if tasting something delicious, as if in envy.

Your immortal life will say this, as it is leaving

[dk-thrive]

When your life looks back —  As it will, at itself, at you —  what will it say?

When your life looks back— As it will, at itself, at you—what will it say?

Inch of colored ribbon cut from the spool. Flame curl, blue-consuming the log it flares from. Bay leaf. Oak leaf. Cricket. One among many.

Your life will carry you as it did always, With ten fingers and both palms, With horizontal ribs and upright spine, With its filling and emptying heart, That wanted only your own heart, emptying, filled, in return. You gave it. What else could you do?

Immersed in air or in water. Immersed in hunger or anger. Curious even when bored. Longing even when running away.

“What will happen next?”— the question hinged in your knees, your ankles, in the in-breaths even of weeping. Strongest of magnets, the future impartial drew you in. Whatever direction you turned toward was face to face. No back of the world existed, No unseen corner, no test. No other earth to prepare for.

This, your life had said, its only pronoun. Here, your life had said, its only house. Let, your life had said, its only order.

And did you have a choice in this? You did—

Sleeping and waking, the horses around you, the mountains around you, The buildings with their tall, hydraulic shafts. Those of your own kind around you—

A few times, you stood on your head. A few times, you chose not to be frightened. A few times, you held another beyond any measure. A few times, you found yourself held beyond any measure.

Mortal, your life will say, As if tasting something delicious, as if in envy. Your immortal life will say this, as it is leaving.

— Jane Hirshfield, “When Your Life Looks Back” in Come, Thief (Published August 23rd 2011 by Knopf, first published January 1st 2011) (via Read a Little Poetry)

[shic]

Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight

Jane Hirshfield, 1953

One ran, her nose to the ground, a rusty shadow neither hunting nor playing.

One stood; sat; lay down; stood again. One never moved, except to turn her head a little as we walked.

Finally we drew too close, and they vanished. The woods took them back as if they had never been.

I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass. But we kept walking, speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.

There is more and more I tell no one, strangers nor loves. This slips into the heart without hurry, as if it had never been.

And yet, among the trees, something has changed. Something looks back from the trees, and knows me for who I am.

(emphasis mine)

[aziakeys]

One ran, her nose to the ground, a rusty shadow neither hunting nor playing. One stood; sat; lay down; stood again. One never moved, except to turn her head a little as we walked. Finally we drew too close, and they vanished. The woods took them back as if they had never been. I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass. We kept on walking, speaking as strangers do when becoming friends. There is more and more I tell no one, strangers nor loves. This slips into the heart without hurry, as if it had never been. And yet, among the trees, something has changed. Something looks back from the trees, and knows me for who I am.

Jane Hirshfield, “Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight” The Atlantic Monthly (vol. 277, no. 6, June 2016)

[thesestrangerthings]

THEATRE REVIEW: THE LION KING National Tour; 6/14/17

CAST:

Rafiki - Buyi Zama

Mufasa - Gerald Ramsey

Sarabi - Krystal Worrell (u/s)

Zazu - Drew Hirshfield

Scar - Mark Campbell

Young Simba - Devin Graves

Young Nala - Meilani Cisneros

Shenzi - Tiffany Denise Hobbs

Ed - Will James Jr. (u/s/)

Timon - Nick Cordileone

Pumbaa - Ben Lipitz

Simba - Dashaun Young

Nala - Nia Holloway

and of course all of the AMAZING singers and dancers of the ensemble, but I’m not sure which of them who were listed in the playbill were actually on that night.

REVIEW:

This isn’t going to be the most detailed review ever since I’ve seen Hamilton since, but I’ll try my best to include all of the highlights. :) This was my first time seeing the stage production of The Lion King and I was even more astounded than I thought I would be. I had no idea that they were going to utilize the aisles and boxes, so I was gaping during “Circle of Life” when they brought some seriously massive puppets into the audience. 

I was most looking forward to Mark Campbell/Scar because “Be Prepared” was always my favorite song from the animated movie and I’m also fascinated by the movement of the lion heads. Mark (and the hyenas!!!) totally nailed the number and my heart was literally pounding during it. Not to mention that the strobe and smoke effects were A+. Mark’s voice acting throughout the entire show was seriously on point and the hyenas were some of my favorite puppets. I also unexpectedly fell in love with Gerald Ramsey’s voice during “They Live in You” and desperately wished that Mufasa had another song before you-know-what happened. But speaking of which, the wildebeest sequence was freaking terrifying (awesome, but terrifying). I didn’t know how they were going to do that beforehand, but it managed to tear my heart to shreds just as much as the movie did (cheers for more awesome strobe effects).

Drew Hirshfield was perfectly cast as Zazu, and it genuinely felt like they took the character straight out of the movie and plopped him onstage. I died at how they replaced the “It’s a Small World” joke from the original movie with “Let It Go.” Good job at roasting yourself, Disney. 

Nia Holloway gave me goosebumps as Nala during “Shadowland,” but the most showstopping moment (perhaps except the opening number just because it’s so iconic) was Buyi Zama as Rafiki and Dashaun Young as Simba both absolutely belting their lungs out during “He Lives in You.” That was another number that left me with a racing heart and goosebumps.

Overall, every single scene was visually astounding. This is definitely one of those shows that every theatergoer should see at least once, and that you shouldn’t mind having a seat towards the back for. I was in the upper balcony with a rail slightly obstructing my view and still had the time of my life. Would totally see this again if given the chance. 

We also got to meet Dashaun Young, Nia Holloway, Mark Campbell, and some of the ensemble members at the stage door and they were all very nice.