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The Shape of the Journey: New & Collected Poems
Here is the definitive collection of poetry from one of America's best-loved writers-now available in paperback. With the publication of this book, eight volumes of poetry were brought back into print, including the early nature-based lyrics of Plain Song , the explosive Outlyer & Ghazals , and the startling "correspondence" with a dead Russian poet in Letters to Yesenin . Also included is an introduction by Harrison, several previously uncollected poems, and "Geo-Bestiary," a 34-part paean to earthly passions. The Shape of the Journey confirms Jim Harrison's place among the most brilliant and essential poets writing today. "Behind the words one always feels the presence of a passionate, exuberant man who is at the same time possessed of a quick, subtle intelligence and a deeply questioning attitude toward life. Harrison writes so winningly that one is simply content to be in the presence of a writer this vital, this large-spirited."- The New York Times Book Review "(An) untrammelled renegade genius here's a poet talking to you instead of around himself, while doing absolutely brilliant and outrageous things with language."- Publishers Weekly "Readers can wander the woods of this collection for a lifetime and still be amazed at what they find."- Booklist (starred review.) When the cloth edition of this book was first published, it immediately became one of Copper Canyon Press's all-time bestsellers. It was featured on Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac , became a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize , and was selected as one of the "Top-Ten Books of 1998" by Booklist . Jim Harrison is the author of twenty books, including Legends of the Fall and The Road Home . He has also written numerous screenplays and served as the food columnist for Esquire magazine. He lives in Michigan and Arizona. Dead Deer Amid pale green milkweed, wild clover,
a rotted deer
curled, shaglike,
after a winter so cold
the trees split open.
I think she couldn't keep up with
the others (they had no place
to go) and her food,
frozen grass and twigs,
a rotted deer
curled, shaglike,
after a winter so cold
the trees split open.
I think she couldn't keep up with
the others (they had no place
to go) and her food,
frozen grass and twigs,
- GenresPoetryFictionAnthologies
484 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1998
66 people are currently reading
386 people want to read
About the author
Jim Harrison
185 books1,490 followersJim Harrison was born in Grayling, Michigan, to Winfield Sprague Harrison, a county agricultural agent, and Norma Olivia (Wahlgren) Harrison, both avid readers. He married Linda King in 1959 with whom he has two daughters.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
His awards include National Academy of Arts grants (1967, 68, 69), a Guggenheim Fellowship (1969-70), the Spirit of the West Award from the Mountain & Plains Booksellers Association, and election to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (2007).
Much of Harrison's writing depicts sparsely populated regions of North America with many stories set in places such as Nebraska's Sand Hills, Michigan's Upper Peninsula, Montana's mountains, and along the Arizona-Mexico border.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
His awards include National Academy of Arts grants (1967, 68, 69), a Guggenheim Fellowship (1969-70), the Spirit of the West Award from the Mountain & Plains Booksellers Association, and election to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (2007).
Much of Harrison's writing depicts sparsely populated regions of North America with many stories set in places such as Nebraska's Sand Hills, Michigan's Upper Peninsula, Montana's mountains, and along the Arizona-Mexico border.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 30 reviews
May 18, 2015
Astonishing poetry collection. One of the few poets that I read cover to cover and then again few more times, untill I know each poem by heart.
Looking Forward to Age
I will walk down to a marina
on a hot day and not go out to sea.
I will go to bed and get up early,
and carry too much cash in my wallet.
On Memorial Day I will visit the graves
of all those who died in my novels.
If I have become famous I'll wear a green
janitor's suit and row a wooden boat.
From a key ring on my belt will hang
thirty-three keys that open no doors.
Perhaps I'll take all of my grandchildren
to Disneyland in a camper but probably not.
One day standing in a river with my fly rod
I'll have the courage to admit my life.
In a one-room cabin at night I'll consign
photos, all tentative memories to the fire.
And you my loves, few as there have been, let's lie
and say it could never have been otherwise.
So that: we may glide off in peace, not howling
like orphans in this endless century of war.
Looking Forward to Age
I will walk down to a marina
on a hot day and not go out to sea.
I will go to bed and get up early,
and carry too much cash in my wallet.
On Memorial Day I will visit the graves
of all those who died in my novels.
If I have become famous I'll wear a green
janitor's suit and row a wooden boat.
From a key ring on my belt will hang
thirty-three keys that open no doors.
Perhaps I'll take all of my grandchildren
to Disneyland in a camper but probably not.
One day standing in a river with my fly rod
I'll have the courage to admit my life.
In a one-room cabin at night I'll consign
photos, all tentative memories to the fire.
And you my loves, few as there have been, let's lie
and say it could never have been otherwise.
So that: we may glide off in peace, not howling
like orphans in this endless century of war.
November 30, 2018
"The Shape of the Journey" meanders like a trout stream picking up meter at the bends and shushing/susurrus on the riffles as it courses the rises of JH's poetry of a lifetime. It's his poetry that undergirds the novels, gives them reference, augurs their earthy realm of woods & stream, birddog & chucker, deer gizzard & mussel; oh and callipygian sprites here too prance & frolic always giving rise to tweaks of animated pleasure. Ha, yep, why not?!
January 22, 2008
Jim Harrison, The Shape of the Journey: New and Collected Poems (Copper Canyon, 1998)
Jim Harrison is a good poet. He's been below the radar for many, many years, writing poems about nature and drinking and general irascibility that few people have actually read. Which is a shame, because when he's really on his game, his work is comparable to that of the best nature poets working today (Hayden Carruth being the obvious parallel here). And more often than not, he is on his game in this book.
Its major flaw is not the quality of the work therein, but the quantity. Even Bukowski, the most readable poet on the planet in the twentieth century, knew that stopping at about three hundred fifty pages of work was a good idea. Harrison's doughty tome weighs in at over four hundred fifty, and his stuff is not nearly as readable as Bukowski's. Nor is it as short. Even Carruth, whose Collected Shorter Poems 1946-1991 (also released by Copper Canyon) is one of the few books that is the exception to this rule (over seven hundred pages, and every one a gem), took all the long poems and placed them in a separate, smaller volume. Harrison, on the other hand, mixes with glee. You get a ten-line ghazal on one page, then a thirty-page longpoem following. The effect is somewhat jarring at times.
It's worth reading, but be prepared to linger over it for months, perhaps years. There's too much going on here to just take it out of the library. ***
Jim Harrison is a good poet. He's been below the radar for many, many years, writing poems about nature and drinking and general irascibility that few people have actually read. Which is a shame, because when he's really on his game, his work is comparable to that of the best nature poets working today (Hayden Carruth being the obvious parallel here). And more often than not, he is on his game in this book.
Its major flaw is not the quality of the work therein, but the quantity. Even Bukowski, the most readable poet on the planet in the twentieth century, knew that stopping at about three hundred fifty pages of work was a good idea. Harrison's doughty tome weighs in at over four hundred fifty, and his stuff is not nearly as readable as Bukowski's. Nor is it as short. Even Carruth, whose Collected Shorter Poems 1946-1991 (also released by Copper Canyon) is one of the few books that is the exception to this rule (over seven hundred pages, and every one a gem), took all the long poems and placed them in a separate, smaller volume. Harrison, on the other hand, mixes with glee. You get a ten-line ghazal on one page, then a thirty-page longpoem following. The effect is somewhat jarring at times.
It's worth reading, but be prepared to linger over it for months, perhaps years. There's too much going on here to just take it out of the library. ***
July 17, 2020
I return to this collection of JH's poetry (from 1965 to 1998) regularly, complete with food stains on my copy which I would hope he would have approved of. He did say, however, not try to inhabit another's soul for one has one's own. Harrison certainly speaks to mine.
April 6, 2019
Jim Harrison is better known for his fiction than for his poetry, but he was a prolific poet and this collection was selected by him from his many volumes of published poetry. It is loosely based on the experiences of a lifetime (1937-2016), a raw and tactile world that ranges from his boyhood in upstate Michigan where he was raised to locations around the world.
Harrison states in a perceptive introduction:
"This book is the portion of my life that means the most to me....in poetry our motives are utterly similar to those who made cave paintings or petroglyphs, so that studying your own work of the past is to ruminate over artifacts, each one a signal, a remnant of a knot of perceptions that brings back to life who and what you were at that time, the past texture of what has to be termed as your ‘soul life.’"
That "soul life" results in fresh and powerful writing, and while far from anything that could be called academic or formal, Harrison is thoroughly familiar with other poets and makes frequent allusions to them. Most of his first person persona is grounded in sharp observations of nature and the landscape and human interaction with it.
It's impossible to do justice to a long collection of poems, but a few lines and fragments give some hint of his scope.
". . . dreaded motes that float around the brain, those pink balloons calling themselves poverty, failure, sickness, lust, and envy"
"I want to have my life in cloud shapes, water shapes, wind shapes, crow call, marsh hawk swooping over grass and weed tips Let the scavenger take what he finds . . ."
"The involuntary image that sweeps into the mind, irresistible and without evident cause as a dream or a thunderstorm . . ."
"On Memorial Day I will visit the graves of all those who died in my novels.. ."
"The fly-strip above the table idled in the window's breeze, a new fly in its death buzz. Grandpa said, 'We are all flies' . . ."
"I suffocated myself with Protestant theology and am mindful , that, like spiders, we spin webs of deceit out of our big hanging asses, whether with Jesus or the Buddha . . ."
"Beware, o wanderer, the road is walking too, said Rilke one day to no one in particular as good poets everywhere address the six directions. If you can't bow, you're dead met. You'll break like uncooked spaghetti . . ."
". . . the days are stacked against what we think we are. After a month of interior weeping it occurred to me that in times like these I have nothing to fall back on except the sun and moon and stars . . ."
"I once thought that life's what's left over after I extricate myself from the mess. I was writing a poem about paying attention and microwaved a hot dog so hot it burned a beet-red hole in the roof of my mouth. Lucrezia Borgia got shit on her fingers by not paying attention. Chanting a sutra, the monk stepped fatally on the viper's tail. Every gun is loaded and cocked. . ."
"The liquid poem . . .is to be and be and be as a creek turns corners by grace of volume, heft of water, speed by rate of drop, even the contour of stone changing day by day. . ."
The endless surprises that come from observing, and becoming, the changes that all of us constantly experience, but generally are oblivious to, are what make Harrison's poems worth reading, and reading and reading
Harrison states in a perceptive introduction:
"This book is the portion of my life that means the most to me....in poetry our motives are utterly similar to those who made cave paintings or petroglyphs, so that studying your own work of the past is to ruminate over artifacts, each one a signal, a remnant of a knot of perceptions that brings back to life who and what you were at that time, the past texture of what has to be termed as your ‘soul life.’"
That "soul life" results in fresh and powerful writing, and while far from anything that could be called academic or formal, Harrison is thoroughly familiar with other poets and makes frequent allusions to them. Most of his first person persona is grounded in sharp observations of nature and the landscape and human interaction with it.
It's impossible to do justice to a long collection of poems, but a few lines and fragments give some hint of his scope.
". . . dreaded motes that float around the brain, those pink balloons calling themselves poverty, failure, sickness, lust, and envy"
"I want to have my life in cloud shapes, water shapes, wind shapes, crow call, marsh hawk swooping over grass and weed tips Let the scavenger take what he finds . . ."
"The involuntary image that sweeps into the mind, irresistible and without evident cause as a dream or a thunderstorm . . ."
"On Memorial Day I will visit the graves of all those who died in my novels.. ."
"The fly-strip above the table idled in the window's breeze, a new fly in its death buzz. Grandpa said, 'We are all flies' . . ."
"I suffocated myself with Protestant theology and am mindful , that, like spiders, we spin webs of deceit out of our big hanging asses, whether with Jesus or the Buddha . . ."
"Beware, o wanderer, the road is walking too, said Rilke one day to no one in particular as good poets everywhere address the six directions. If you can't bow, you're dead met. You'll break like uncooked spaghetti . . ."
". . . the days are stacked against what we think we are. After a month of interior weeping it occurred to me that in times like these I have nothing to fall back on except the sun and moon and stars . . ."
"I once thought that life's what's left over after I extricate myself from the mess. I was writing a poem about paying attention and microwaved a hot dog so hot it burned a beet-red hole in the roof of my mouth. Lucrezia Borgia got shit on her fingers by not paying attention. Chanting a sutra, the monk stepped fatally on the viper's tail. Every gun is loaded and cocked. . ."
"The liquid poem . . .is to be and be and be as a creek turns corners by grace of volume, heft of water, speed by rate of drop, even the contour of stone changing day by day. . ."
The endless surprises that come from observing, and becoming, the changes that all of us constantly experience, but generally are oblivious to, are what make Harrison's poems worth reading, and reading and reading
May 18, 2020
A magnificent long collection of poems by the always impressive Jim Harrison. Published in 1998, it obviously does not include his later work before his death, so it serves as a wonderful introduction to his earlier poetry and his constant evolution, always trying new forms to express his worldview. Highest recommendation.
March 27, 2008
One of my very favorite poets, whom Louise Erdrich once called "the last of the high-test males." True as that might be, he is a poet of great sensitivity and even sentimenal skill, something most high-test males cannot claim.
November 17, 2020
some of the language is hella beautiful but some of it is really wack in the way it talks about women of color in particular???? full disclosure I did not finish it the library is accepting returns again and they said I would have to return it or I wouldn’t be able to check out my ebooks anymore :(
June 15, 2024
This collection has some great poems, but it was a mixed bag for me. That said, there were so many lines that I just loved, so it was well worth it. Here are some highlights:
From "Looking Forward to Age":
One day standing in a river with my fly rod
I'll have the courage to admit life.
And you my loves, few as there have been, let's lie
and say it could never have been otherwise.
From "Returning to Earth"
Now the barriers are dissolving, the stone fences
in shambles. I want to have my life
in cloud shapes, water shapes, wind shapes,
crow walk, marsh hawk swooping over grass and weed tips.
From "A Sequence of Women"
I've know her too long:
we devour as two mirrors,
opposed,
swallow each other a thousand
times at midpoints,
lost in the black center
of the other.
From "Looking Forward to Age":
One day standing in a river with my fly rod
I'll have the courage to admit life.
And you my loves, few as there have been, let's lie
and say it could never have been otherwise.
From "Returning to Earth"
Now the barriers are dissolving, the stone fences
in shambles. I want to have my life
in cloud shapes, water shapes, wind shapes,
crow walk, marsh hawk swooping over grass and weed tips.
From "A Sequence of Women"
I've know her too long:
we devour as two mirrors,
opposed,
swallow each other a thousand
times at midpoints,
lost in the black center
of the other.
December 4, 2022
This is an astounding, wonderful, almost perfect collection of poems. Some pieces border on the sublimity of classical Chinese poetry, for example this excerpt:
A cold spring dawn
near Parker Creek,
a doe bounding away through
shoulder-high fog
fairly floating,
soundless
as if she were running in a cloud.
Yet, it gets gritty and real as well, as in this part of another poem:
The brain grows smaller and beats
against its cage of bone
like a small wet bird.
I don't have enough superlatives to do his work justice.
A cold spring dawn
near Parker Creek,
a doe bounding away through
shoulder-high fog
fairly floating,
soundless
as if she were running in a cloud.
Yet, it gets gritty and real as well, as in this part of another poem:
The brain grows smaller and beats
against its cage of bone
like a small wet bird.
I don't have enough superlatives to do his work justice.
January 1, 2021
Harrison manages to drop the testosterone level in his poetry in a way that he doesn't always manage in his fiction and his food writing, which, don't get me wrong, I also love. But in his poems, I get a sense of a man struggling to see well, rather than a man constructing a persona.
April 15, 2021
I’m glad I pushed through on this long collection, because I did really enjoy some poems toward the end (the 1998 poem #18 about epitaphs, After Ikkyu, Dancing). Overall I am not a huge fan of Harrison’s style.
September 18, 2018
An anthology of Jim Harrison's (1937-1916) poetry from 1965-1998. He is a powerful writer who centers on the ordinary and makes each poem extraordinary.
March 9, 2019
With poems the ooze Michigan, I was transported back to my youth.
January 12, 2020
I love a lot of Harrison’s poetry, just not this collection.
November 1, 2020
I love his work, especially the ghazals.
December 2, 2020
“We are more than dying flies in a shithouse, though we are that, too.”
JH
JH
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April 8, 2023to-read
April 8, 2024
Jim Harrison’s poems clearly state what he wants said about moving from point A to point Done. Depending on how far along you’ve come, The Shape of the Journey is a little nerve wracking.
September 1, 2025
excellent collection of poetry from true legend
May 6, 2014
The Shape of the Journey by Jim Harrison (A Book Reaction)
I enjoy Jim Harrison's writing. It's real, earthy, with a normal human experience of darker seasons. He captures the soul of the common man for me, writing out his essence. This man is someone I keep recognizing from home, where I grew up.
Harrison's poems that left me paused with the book in my hand but looking upward were the poems that took me to a place. I'd find myself in a new setting, actually seeing the setting and people he introduced me to. After the poem, I'd dwell there with them a little longer, no longer mediated by the poet. Then, Harrison would take me to another place, another emotion even, when I continued with the next poem.
The poems made me laugh though my laughter came from the tragic rather than comedic stream.
I enjoy Jim Harrison's writing. It's real, earthy, with a normal human experience of darker seasons. He captures the soul of the common man for me, writing out his essence. This man is someone I keep recognizing from home, where I grew up.
Harrison's poems that left me paused with the book in my hand but looking upward were the poems that took me to a place. I'd find myself in a new setting, actually seeing the setting and people he introduced me to. After the poem, I'd dwell there with them a little longer, no longer mediated by the poet. Then, Harrison would take me to another place, another emotion even, when I continued with the next poem.
The poems made me laugh though my laughter came from the tragic rather than comedic stream.
April 11, 2015
What can I say. This is Jim Harrison. You don't read this book in a lineal fashion or method. You soak it up along the way of getting there. And you go back. And then you go forward. And then you stand still for a while. It's gut level meditation at its best. Reading this stuff is like watching a master carpenter make a table. You watch it. And then this becomes that. And then you go back and try to watch it again to see if this becomes the same that or another that. And you don't know. And you don't care. This or that remains good no matter what it turns into. And you don't know why. And you don't care why. Like all good, true, and beautiful things. Why doesn't matter. What is matters. These words are made from what is.
March 24, 2012
We often look to the past for our literary heroes. Jim Harrison is a literary hero still active and among us here in 2012. He released a novel (The Great Leader) and a new collection of poems (Songs of Unreason) just this past year. Shape of the Journey collects his poetry from 1965's Plain Song collection all the way through to After Ikkyu from 1996. It, more than any other 'collected poems' volume by any poet, has left a deep and lasting impression on my psyche. I will re-read this tome often as I go forward - it is as formidable a version of a manual for life as I have found yet. http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/01/03...
May 31, 2011
I really enjoyed this collection of poetry, particularly the selections from Plainsong. Many of the poems evinced a sort of Lorca imagery and "feeling," ala Americana landscapes, spaces, and people. I'd go out on a limb and say Harrison's poetry may in fact be better than his novels. I'd recommend this book to others and I'm not even a huge poetry fan.
March 23, 2016
The best single collection of Harrison's poetry. Can be read and reread with increasing delight. Why this man is not better known eludes me. He may be, along with Philip Roth, the greatest living American writer. These career spanning poems are a marvel. Read, enjoy, recommend.
March 17, 2009
This is one of the most underrated books of poetry out there. Jim Harrison is an amazing poet with the kind of duende his poetic forebears also have.
August 11, 2009
I enjoy reading Harrison's poems more than his novels.
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August 6, 2010lovely poems. his ghazals, especially ("i love thee john keats"). i'm surprised at the lack of reviews. c'est la vie. he probably could give a damn.
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April 22, 2013811.54 H3197s 1998
May 2, 2016
A terrific summary of his poetic work. A fine writer - so much there to examine.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 30 reviews