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My love for Louise Gluck grows.

July 3, 2006


(go, buy a book. this one.)

From The Wild Iris (Ecco Press, 1990)

“The Wild Iris”

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 sea water.

not convinced?
here, follow a link:
http://www.poetrymagazine.org/magazine/0106/poem_176518.html

This is only one of my most favorite volumes of poetry of all time…:o)

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