Evening Hawk

Fiction | Poem | Adult | Published in 1985

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Summary

Background

Poem Analysis

Themes

Symbols & Motifs

Literary Devices

Themes

Living in the Face of Mortality

One of the most difficult questions humans encounter is how to confront their mortality. In “Evening Hawk,” Robert Penn Warren’s speaker acknowledges this powerful struggle by observing the natural world during the evening. At first disturbed by the passage of time, they later consider the concept set forth by the Greek philosopher Plato that death is the proper conclusion of any life. The speaker goes on to suggest that the only answer to fearing death lies in the embrace of light. Like the hawk, we must soar upward, turning an indifferent eye to the threats of shadow, taking comfort in what natural gifts remain.

As we go about our daily life, we often ignore the passage of time and the certainty of our own death. Sometimes we focus on what we can produce, thinking it can assure us an immortal place in the history of mankind. For the speaker, this is “the gold of our error” (Line 11). These pleasures cannot stop the closing down of another day, exemplified by the image of sunset and the hawk streaking across the purpling sky with its scythe-like wing. The speaker suggests, however, that if we dwell on this unstoppable passage of time, we could be driven mad by “hear[ing] / The earth grind on its axis, or history / Drip in darkness” (Lines 21-23).

For the speaker, the natural world provides the answer. The speaker notes that “[l]ong now, / the last thrush is still” (Lines 16-17). Since thrushes are often symbolically tied to youth, we can see the speaker accepting the passage of their younger years. Observing the deepening sky, the speaker also sees a “bat [that] now cruises” (Line 18) the sky. Although traditionally tied to death, the bat, like the hawk, is beautiful in its “wisdom [which] / Is ancient, too, and immense” (Lines 18-19). Another fixed, immense thing is the “star” (Line 20) that hangs over the “mountain” (Line 20). Seeing death as an inevitable but correct natural state—as Plato suggests—frees the speaker to appreciate the beauty of the living world as it passes.

Instead of dwelling on the severity of the “fall of the stalks of Time” (Line 10), the speaker should embrace the wind that allows the hawk to move toward the light. This light is described in heavenly terms, and embracing “the last tumultuous avalanche of / Light” (Lines 4-5) is the answer to despair at death. We should embrace it as the hawk does, “climbing” (Line 12) upward, even as the “world [...] swings / into shadow” (Lines 14-15). We should keep our eyes on the steady star, the hope that, although transitory, resides in natural beauty—which does not omit but includes death.

The Coming Darkness of Death

There is no question that a sense of darkness pervades “Evening Hawk.” Dark images dominate the poem and suggest the futility of man’s progress. The hawk is compared to the figure of Death itself and becomes a harbinger of doom.

The cast of the setting sun throws shadows on the sky that serve as severe black cuts. They seem to part the world into two, highlighting the bifurcation of light and shadow. The “gorge” (Line 5) forms a deep “v” shape, while the “[mountain] peak” (Line 3) rises as a reverse triangular shape. Here, darkness is both looming and deep, images that emphasize its fatal inevitability. As the hawk soars out of the mountain, it seems to bring darkness with it. This darkness will eventually take over everything, turning day to night and life to death.

“The hawk comes” (Line 6) like the allegorical figure of the Grim Reaper. Its “wing / [s]cythes down another day” (Lines 7-8). Its daily arrival kills Time and any of the harvest planted during the waking hours. It obliterates. While the human may mourn this, Death does not care: “Under / [its] eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings into shadow” (Lines 14-15). While we may passionately believe in our lives, their uniqueness, and their progress, Death is unequivocal and unrelenting.

As the speaker notes, the “earth grinds on its axis” (Line 22), and each spin is difficult, stuttering with effort. Our “history” (Line 23), all its measured meaning, will “drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar” (Line 23). From the top of the peak to the bottom of the cellar, darkness consumes. Even the bat, who later flies in the night sky, is a symbol of death, offering little comfort with its “sharp hieroglyphics” (Line 18) that cannot be deciphered. In this reading, death is an untranslatable language that is “ancient” (Line 19) and “immense” (Line 19), a final “wisdom” (Line 18) one cannot escape.

Contemplation of Legacy

“Evening Hawk” has been traditionally seen as a poem that deals with questions of mortality, but it can also be seen as a metaphoric questioning of the poet’s place in the universe, particularly in terms of legacy. Robert Penn Warren wrote this poem in 1975 at the age of 70. At the time, he was esteemed as a great man of letters. Most great artists wonder what they will leave behind after they are gone.

In “Evening Hawk,” Warren’s speaker is worried that the hawk’s flight “scythes down another day” (Line 8) and that they “hear / [t]he crashless falls of stalks of Time” (Lines 9-10). They worry that it is “the gold of [their] error” (Line 11) to believe that what they have been doing with their life is productive and/or lasting. Soon, their world will “swin[g] / into shadow” (Lines 14-15) and they will be dead.

This observation fills the speaker with doubt, and they wonder if—and how—they should keep going. “[T]he last thrush” (Line 17) has “long now” (Line 16) gone silent. Thrushes are songbirds, noted for their beautiful singing voice and, in many cultures, have symbolically been connected to youth and the creative arts. The speaker is unsure if they have anything important left to say, or perhaps, even if what they are saying is important. They are unsure if anyone will understand their meaning.

To take comfort, the speaker observes the “sharp hieroglyphics” (Line 18) of the soaring bat, and the “star / [...] steady, like Plato, over the mountain” (Lines 19-20). The speaker compares themselves to the bat that writes in a language that may never be translated, and a philosopher whose ideas have existed for millennia. This relieves the speaker. Even if the audience cannot initially understand the speaker’s language and it must be translated, it is also possible that they will be revered for their wisdom like Plato.

In other words, they know they may amount to nothing as time passes, but they must still pursue the flight of creation to the end of their time. Like the hawk, “climbing the last light” (Line 12) toward inspiration is the only pursuit. The act of flying, or creating, won’t bring back youth or ensure fame, but the attempt is a worthwhile way to fashion the closing of a life.