Louise Gluck Poems
|41.||The Myth Of Innocence||3/21/2015|
|44.||The Racer's Widow||6/24/2015|
|45.||The Red Poppy||1/1/2004|
|46.||The Silver Lily||1/1/2004|
|47.||The Triumph Of Achilles||1/1/2004|
|48.||The Untrustworthy Speaker||1/1/2004|
|49.||The White Lilies||1/1/2004|
|50.||The Wild Iris||1/1/2004|
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 ...
I regret bitterly
The years of loving you in both
Your presence and absence, regret
The law, the vocation
That forbid me to keep you, the sea
A sheet of glass, the sun-bleached
Beauty of the Greek ships: how
Could I have power if
I had no wish