Louise Gluck

(22 April 1943 / New York / United States)

Louise Gluck Poems

1. The Racer's Widow 6/24/2015
2. An Adventure 6/30/2015
3. A Summer Garden 5/25/2016
4. Aboriginal Landscape 5/25/2016
5. Afterword 5/25/2016
6. Portrait 4/7/2015
7. Dawn 5/25/2016
8. The Empty Glass 5/25/2016
9. End of Winter 5/25/2016
10. Humidifier 5/25/2016
11. Mock Orange 5/25/2016
12. Mother and Child 5/25/2016
13. Nocturne 5/25/2016
14. Parable of the Hostages 5/25/2016
15. Parable of the Swans 5/25/2016
16. Visitors from Abroad 5/25/2016
17. Vita Nova 5/25/2016
18. The Wish 7/28/2016
19. Archaic Fragment 5/25/2016
20. A Fable 9/15/2015
21. Epithalamium 10/20/2015
22. Early December in Croton-on-Hudson 5/25/2016
23. Elms 5/25/2016
24. Midsummer 5/25/2016
25. The Drowned Children 5/25/2016
26. A Myth of Devotion 6/15/2015
27. Hyacinth 5/25/2016
28. The Past 6/18/2015
29. October 11/21/2014
30. The Myth Of Innocence 3/21/2015
31. Poem 1/1/2004
32. Retreating Wind 1/1/2004
33. Saints 1/1/2004
34. The Fear Of Burial 1/1/2004
35. The Garden 1/1/2004
36. The Pond 1/1/2004
37. Summer 1/1/2004
38. The White Lilies 1/1/2004
39. The Gold Lily 1/1/2004
40. Snowdrops 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Louise Gluck

Celestial Music

I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
Brave too, able to face unpleasantness.

We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it.
I'm always moved by disaster, always eager to oppose vitality
But timid also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
According to nature. For my sake she intervened
Brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it ...

Read the full of Celestial Music

A Fantasy

I'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that's just the beginning.
Every day, in funeral homes, new widows are born,
new orphans. They sit with their hands folded,
trying to decide about this new life.

Then they're in the cemetery, some of them
for the first time. They're frightened of crying,
sometimes of not crying. Someone leans over,

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