Evening Hawk

The poem begins with the speaker trying to visually capture the flight of the hawk through the sun-streaked sky at the close of day. The “hawk comes” (Line 6), its “wings dipping through [...] the sunset” (Lines 1-2). The bird glides between the geometric shapes of shadows cast into relief by the soft violet color of the sky. The dark triangular shapes of the “mountain” (Line 20), its “peak (Line 3), the “pines” (Line 5) as well as the deep “gorge” (Line 5) are contrasted by the purpling clouds that bloom like “orchids” (Line 2) in curved petals. The bird is “riding / [t]he last tumultuous avalanche of / [l]ight” (Lines 3-5), an image that suggests that the hawk deliberately follows the final burst of the sun’s brightness before it disappears into the night.

Although this description denotes the realistic movements of the bird against the changing light of twilight, the speaker’s choice of words gives the reader a sense of deeper foreboding, preparing us for understanding the bird’s flight as a deeper metaphor. The bird seems to have splintered off from the “peak’s black angularity” (Line 3) to fly above the “guttural gorge” (Line 5) as a harbinger of dark things to come. It spreads its wings over the “last” (Line 5) brightness, bringing the “shadow” (Line 3) nearer the speaker.

This darkness is confirmed as the speaker then claims the bird’s “wing / [s]cythes down another day” (Lines 7-8) with a “honed steel-edge” (Line 9). A scythe is an agricultural tool used to harvest grains that is typically representative of the end of growing season. For the speaker, the hawk’s motion indicates the “fall of stalks of Time” (Line 10), something, they note, “we [all] hear” (Line 9). With this image—as well as the use of the collective audience—the speaker notes how each day’s finish brings every soul closer to inevitable finality.

Further, “[t]he head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error” (Line 11), suggesting that each day of living leaves us with regrets over mistakes we have made. To combat this feeling of regret, the speaker reminds themselves—and us—that the hawk is not just a symbol but a thing of nature, acting on instinct, and perhaps should be emulated. It knows “neither Time nor error” (Line 13) and does not suffer any human pain since, “under [its] eye, unforgiving, the world [is] unforgiven” (Line 14). The bird merely exists in, and adapts to, a harsh landscape that now “swings / [i]nto shadow” (Lines 14-15) as it previously existed in light.

The hawk accepts its daily rhythm and does not question any coming darkness as we might.

The speaker then observes that other winged creatures like the “thrush” (Line 17) and the “bat” (Line 17) also go about their daily routines without pause. The speaker remarks that this kind of “wisdom / [is] ancient, too, and immense” (Lines 18-19). The natural course of life is rhythmic and unchanging. The cycles of day/life and night/death are taken without contemplation of escape. Rather, they are accepted by the creatures as natural. That the speaker feels this strategy is one that humans should also accept is shown by the image of the “star / […] steady […] over the mountain” (Lines 19-20). The speaker compares it to Plato, the ancient Greek philosopher, who believed Death was part of the natural process and should be viewed as the final achievement of human life.

Like the star, this philosophy should guide us: We, like the hawk, should ride with the currents of the given wind and embrace the last glimmer of life. The speaker acknowledges that “if there were no wind we might” (Line 21) be driven to distraction by our inevitable doom. We would “hear / the earth grind on its axis” (Lines 21-22) or “history / [d]rip in the darkness” (Line 22-23). In other words, this would make daily life unbearable as we contemplate “the gold of our error” (Line 11). Warren suggests it is better to be like the hawk, “riding / [t]he last tumultuous avalanche of / [l]ight” (Lines 3-5), going upward.