poet Louise Gluck

Louise Gluck

#162 on top 500 poets

Comments about Louise Gluck

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    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • shayze fudgelark (3/3/2018 5:47:00 PM)

    depressed!

    4 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Savita Tyagi Savita Tyagi (10/14/2015 9:01:00 AM)

    wonderful! Such deep insight in emotional understanding.

    6 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Guillermo Fernandez (8/15/2014 12:26:00 PM)

    Everybody who loves poems by Louise Gluck should read this http: //t.co/YETrdfDzMT

    6 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
  • Richard Beevor (5/28/2014 10:22:00 AM)

    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.

    4 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Jacqui Thewless Jacqui Thewless (4/20/2010 11:00:00 AM)

    I'm wondering why my comment about Matins seems to have been repeated (not by myself) .

    9 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
  • Sylva Portoian (12/12/2009 4:44:00 AM)

    I liked the Third Stanza:
    ' How can you understand me,
    if you can't understand your self.'

    13 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
  • Jeff Dryer (2/19/2005 2:22:00 PM)

    This is not your poem. Good try though. Its by John Donne.

    4 person liked.
    27 person did not like.
Best Poem of Louise Gluck

Circe's Power

I never turned anyone into a pig.
Some people are pigs; I make them
Look like pigs.

I'm sick of your world
That lets the outside disguise the inside. Your men weren't bad men;
Undisciplined life
Did that to them. As pigs,

Under the care of
Me and my ladies, they
Sweetened right up.

Then I reversed the spell, showing you my goodness
As well as my power. I saw

We could be happy here,
As men and women are
When their needs are simple. In the same breath,

I foresaw your departure,
Your men with my help braving
The crying and ...

Read the full of Circe's Power

A Fantasy

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,
trying to decide about this new life.

Then they're in the cemetery, some of them
for the first time. They're frightened of crying,
sometimes of not crying. Someone leans over,