Treasure Island

Louise Gluck

(22 April 1943 / New York / United States)

Saints


In our family, there were two saints,
my aunt and my grandmother.
But their lives were different.

My grandmother's was tranquil, even at the end.
She was like a person walking in calm water;
for some reason
the sea couldn't bring itself to hurt her.
When my aunt took the same path,
the waves broke over her, they attacked her,
which is how the Fates respond
to a true spiritual nature.

My grandmother was cautious, conservative:
that's why she escaped suffering.
My aunt's escaped nothing;
each time the sea retreats, someone she loves is taken away.

Still she won't experience
the sea as evil. To her, it is what it is:
where it touches land, it must turn to violence.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: family, sea, evil, nature, water, time

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Saints by Louise Gluck )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. gud bye my love, The lonely wanderer
  2. गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ- 77, Ronjoy Brahma
  3. Ordinary Goddess, GRANT FRASER
  4. u and I are never alike, The lonely wanderer
  5. Truth and non-violence, gajanan mishra
  6. If I Die Young, John Billy Tumapon Yucot
  7. Not even birds, hasmukh amathalal
  8. गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ- 76, Ronjoy Brahma
  9. I Was About Asking Why, Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
  10. How to Listen, Joyce Sutphen

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]