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Louise Gluck poems, quotations and biography on Louise Gluck poet page. Read all poems of Louise Gluck and infos about Louise Gluck.
Born in 1943, Louise Glück is an American poet. She was born in New York City and grew up in Long Island. Her father helped invent the X-Acto Knife. Glück graduated in 1961 from George W. Hewlett High School, in Hewlett, New York. She went on to attend Sarah Lawrence College and Columbia University.
Glück won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1993 for her collection The Wild Iris. Glück is the recipient of the National Book Critics Circle Award (Triumph of Achilles), the Academy of American Poet's Prize (Firstborn), as well as numerous Guggenheim fellowships. She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and was previously a Senior Lecturer in English at Williams College in Williamstown, ... more »
Louise Gluck Poems
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.... more »
I never turned anyone into a pig.
Some people are pigs; I make them
Look like pigs.... more »
I'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that's just the beginning.
Every day, in funeral homes, new widows are born,
new orphans. They sit with their hands folded,... more »
Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was--... more »
A man and a woman lie on a white bed.
It is morning. I think
Soon they will waken.
On the bedside table is a vase... more »
How can you say
earth should give me joy? Each thing
born is my burden; I cannot succeed
with all of you.... more »
Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
Sleep in their blue yoke,
The fields having been... more »
Comments about Louise Gluck
Happiness
A man and a woman lie on a white bed.
It is morning. I think
Soon they will waken.
On the bedside table is a vase
of lilies; sunlight
pools in their throats.
I watch him turn to her
as though to speak her name
but silently, deep in her mouth--
At the window ledge,
once, twice,
a bird calls.
And then she stirs; her body
fills with his breath.
I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning ...
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depressed!
wonderful! Such deep insight in emotional understanding.
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All Hallows has a lovely dark chill that gives me a tingle, one of my favourite poems as of today, you are a wonderful poet, I wish I could aspire to your heights, thank you for your work.
I'm wondering why my comment about Matins seems to have been repeated (not by myself) .
I liked the Third Stanza:
' How can you understand me,
if you can't understand your self.'
This is not your poem. Good try though. Its by John Donne.