Love Poem Poem by Louise Gluck

Love Poem

Rating: 3.5

There is always something to be made of pain.
Your mother knits.
She turns out scarves in every shade of red.
They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm
while she married over and over, taking you
along. How could it work,
when all those years she stored her widowed heart
as though the dead come back.
No wonder you are the way you are,
afraid of blood, your women
like one brick wall after another.

P A Noushad 15 October 2020

Outstanding verses, I consider that the friendship with you is the great gift Louise Gluck.

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P A Noushad 15 October 2020

Life on earth-children-parents-relations-dreams-all I feel here Louise Gluck.

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Mahtab Bangalee 11 October 2020

life is weaved by the colorful threads sometimes it needs to enjoy every color to satisfy itself though the ultimate satisfactions is illusion, unreachable none can seize it without self-satiated knowledge whatever, a mother needs also enjoy the life whole if her walking conjugal path is broken in midway; so for the mother or father sometimes the parents-less child feels everywhere the orphanage - oh; it's a life where love is eternal miraculous leader!

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Colleen Courtney 14 May 2014

Some parents don't fully comprehend how their actions or inactions affect the lives of their children. An interesting write.

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Walter Durk 25 January 2007

This is a very interesting poem. It concisely expresses how the life and attitudes of one person, in this case a mother, can effect the life of her child, a son. She was unable to share her heart with him. She sequestered it. She gave him scarves, but not her heart. She 'turned out scarves in every shade of red', her relationships were many and painful, blood red, the blood of life. Her son, unable or afraid to live with that pain, would have cold, 'bloodless' relationships, the opposite of his mother. At least that is how I interpret this fascinating, fascinating great poem.

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Louise Gluck

Louise Gluck

New York / United States
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