Maurice L. Hirsch, Jr.
In Roots and Paths, his second book of poetry, Hirsch turns a keen but warm eye on the roots that anchor us as we follow our winding paths. He looks to life issues within and without as he explores the paths we take and those we avoid, the fluctuating line between our dreams and realities, and the balancing act required to remain grounded as we grow. Hirsch’s poems are a welcome and wise distillation of life’s confusions and messy challenges.
Said of his first book, Stares to Other Places, and of Roots and Paths:
“Hirsch’s two impressive first volumes of poetry—Stares to Other Places and Roots and Paths—are a delight to the heart as well as to the mind. With direct, accessible and splendidly crafted language, Hirsch gives voice to the everyday challenges of remaining worthy of the gift of life with all its ups and downs. I intend to keep both volumes handy for repeated, inspirational readings. Hirsch’s words will help his readers unlock their own minds and souls to their deepest hopes, fears, pain and pleasure. His readers will be grateful to him for sharing his special gifts of expression.”
Robert A. Cohn, Editor in Chief/Publisher, St. Louis Jewish Light
Maurice L. Hirsch, Jr. began writing poems in 2000 after a career in academia. His first collection of poems is Stares to Other Places.
He received an M.B.A. and Ph.D. in Accounting from Washington University and taught management accounting at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville until his retirement. He is the author or coauthor of several books and many journal articles, both in management accounting and in oral and written communication skills.
Hirsch is an avid horseman, breeding, training, riding, and showing Paso Fino horses for over thirty years. He has served for over twenty-five years as a board member of The Repertory Theatre of St. Louis. He is a founding board member of Chesterfield Arts, a community-based arts organization, and serves on the City of Chesterfield’s Planning Commission.
Hirsch and his wife of forty-three years live in Chesterfield, Missouri and are lucky to have their children and grandchildren nearby.
Roots and Paths
Jonquils bloom in my manicured,
mulched yard. Nearby, the woods
still exhale winter,
bare and brown in the morning sun,
nothing green but moss,
leftover sprigs of grass,
the living and the dead
still one.
Leafless vines
surround us. Some hold
half-fallen trees in a tangled
aerial embrace,
others wait like snares
overhead.
Everywhere,
scattered,
splattered,
peeled,
broken
trees cause us to veer
from the familiar track.
An upturned trunk’s
vestigial roots spread
like a large pelvic bone.
Another’s are hind feet
ready to spring toward us.
A chain-sawed
hollow log is a cannon’s
bore aimed our way.
When I look down the hill, I see
the path where I will be,
heading in the opposite
direction,
on a different plane.
I look up,
see a hint of where I have been.
Both are familiar and foreign.
A fallen tree, caught
in the fork of another,
becomes my rudder.
Scar Redemption
The surgeon made a six-inch cut
From my navel downward, removed an organ
Peppered with cancer. Before the surgery,
I took a picture of my abdomen—
This is what it looked like when I had
All my parts. Over weeks and months,
I found myself fingering the healing
Incision, a tingling reminder of the gash
Where hands entered.
I have wondered when the scar
And its sensation would go away.
It was red and stitched,
Visibly and invisibly. Later
It felt like braided cord. Then
Upper portions flattened, smoothed
Out, while lower parts remain
Raised and hard.
A year passed. I think it will not
Change much more. Now I realize
I don’t want it to disappear.
I want to touch my scar,
Be reminded of what’s gone,
Have feelings wash over me.
