Welcome back to the Daily Poem here on the Close Reeds Podcast Network.

I'm David Kern.

Today's poem is by Thomas Kinsella.

It's called Mirror in February, which seemed like the right poem to read for obvious reasons, I think.

Kinsella is an Irish poet, translator and editor, who was

born in 1928 and is still alive today. So here is Mirror in February. The day dawns with

scent of must and rain, of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air. Under the fading lamp half-dressed, my brain idling

on some compulsive fantasy, I towel my shaven jaw and stop and stare, riveted by a dark

exhausted eye, a dry, downturning mouth. It seems again that it is time to learn in this untiring, crumbling place of

growth to which for the time being I return. Now plainly, in the mirror of my soul, I read that I

have looked my last on youth and little more, for they are not made whole that reach the age of Christ.

Below my window the awakening trees,

hacked clean for better bearing,

stand defaced suffering their brute necessities.

And how should the flesh not quail that span,

for span is mutilated more?

In slow distaste, I fold my towel with what grace I can.

Not young and not renewable, but man.

So here's my question for you, those of you who are listening to this podcast.

Do you find this a depressing poem?

It's funny how many poems and how many stories and how many works of art that

are related to February are considered depressing. Those of us who are teachers know that February

...