Louise Gluck

(22 April 1943 / New York / United States)

Siren - Poem by Louise Gluck

I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.

I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.

I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.

Does a good person
Think this way? I deserve

Credit for my courage--

I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn't let you go
That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn't she want you to be happy?

I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.

I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus--
In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on
Is moving away. With one hand
She's waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.

The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.


Comments about Siren by Louise Gluck

  • Rookie - 45 Points Colleen Courtney (5/14/2014 9:51:00 PM)

    An interesting dream poem! (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie - 0 Points Emancipation Planz (2/28/2008 12:46:00 AM)

    Does the dream rescue the miss-stressed though? This appears as a courageous write... (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »



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Read poems about / on: courage, dream, dark, woman, sad, happy, night, baby, women



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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