Louise Gluck

(22 April 1943 / New York / United States)

Louise Gluck Poems

41. Parable Of Faith 1/1/2004
42. Parable Of The Dove 1/1/2004
43. Parable of the Hostages 5/25/2016
44. Parable of the Swans 5/25/2016
45. Parousia 1/1/2004
46. Penelope's Song 1/1/2004
47. Poem 1/1/2004
48. Portrait 4/7/2015
49. Retreating Wind 1/1/2004
50. Saints 1/1/2004
51. Siren 1/1/2004
52. Snow 1/1/2004
53. Snowdrops 1/1/2004
54. Summer 1/1/2004
55. The Butterfly 1/1/2004
56. The Drowned Children 5/25/2016
57. The Empty Glass 5/25/2016
58. The Fear Of Burial 1/1/2004
59. The Garden 1/1/2004
60. The Gold Lily 1/1/2004
61. The Myth Of Innocence 3/21/2015
62. The Past 6/18/2015
63. The Pond 1/1/2004
64. The Racer's Widow 6/24/2015
65. The Red Poppy 1/1/2004
66. The Silver Lily 1/1/2004
67. The Triumph Of Achilles 1/1/2004
68. The Untrustworthy Speaker 1/1/2004
69. The White Lilies 1/1/2004
70. The Wild Iris 1/1/2004
71. The Wish 7/28/2016
72. Vespers 1/1/2004
73. Visitors from Abroad 5/25/2016
74. Vita Nova 5/25/2016
75. Widows 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Louise Gluck

The Wild Iris

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak ...

Read the full of The Wild Iris

All Hallows

Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
Sleep in their blue yoke,
The fields having been
Picked clean, the sheaves
Bound evenly and piled at the roadside
Among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:

This is the barrenness

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