Louise Gluck Poems

The great man turns his back on the island.
Now he will not die in paradise
nor hear again
the lutes of paradise among the olive trees,
...

Requiring something lovely on his arm
Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm,
His family's; later picking up the mammoth
Girlfriend of Charlie, meanwhile trying to pawn me off
...

What can I tell you that you don't know
that will make you tremble again?

Forsythia
...

Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like
...

My mother's playing cards with my aunt,
Spite and Malice, the family pastime, the game
my grandmother taught all her daughters.
...

There was an apple tree in the yard --
this would have been
forty years ago -- behind,
only meadows. Drifts
...

A dove lived in a village.
When it opened its mouth
sweetness came out, sound
like a silver light around
...

Don't listen to me; my heart's been broken.
I don't see anything objectively.

I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
...

In your extended absence, you permit me
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report
failure in my assignment, principally
...

Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
...