Louise Gluck

(22 April 1943 / New York / United States)

The Wild Iris - Poem by Louise Gluck

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 again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.


Comments about The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck

  • Rookie - 45 Points Colleen Courtney (5/14/2014 11:15:00 PM)

    Interesting poem. Almost has a mystical quality. Nice. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: remember, fear, dark, death, sun, world



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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