Louise Glück

Jan 4, 2025 | newyorker.com | Louise Glück

I came from a family of talkers. But talk, in my house, was not conversation. Talk was holding forth. Prevailing. Having the last word. Only one person could do it at a time, which meant that there was constant barging in and interruption, as impatience to speak grew more feverish and more relentless. Everybody wanted to talk. Nobody wanted to listen. In this, I was exactly like my mother and my father and my sister, though we had, each of us, a distinctive style.

Sep 25, 2024 | dialnet.unirioja.es | Louise Glück

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Sep 22, 2024 | sjsu.edu | Louise Glück

By Louise GlückThis is the world we wanted. All who would have seen us deadare dead. I hear the witch's crybreak in the moonlight through a sheetof sugar: God rewards. Her tongue shrivels into gas…Now far from women's armsand memory women, in our father's hutwe sleep, are never hungry. Why do I not forget? My father bars the door, bars harmfrom this house, and it is years. No one remembers. Even you, my brother,summer afternoons you look at me thoughyou meant to leave,as though it never happened.

May 4, 2024 | homepaddock.wordpress.com | Louise Glück |Ele Ludemann

THE WILD IRISby Louise GlückAt the end of my sufferingthere was a door. Hear me out: that which you call deathI remember. Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting. Then nothing. The weak sunflickered over the dry surface. It is terrible to surviveas consciousnessburied in the dark earth. Then it was over: that which you fear, beinga soul and unableto speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earthbending a little. And what I took to bebirds darting in low shrubs.

Apr 29, 2024 | themarginalian.org | Maria Popova |Louise Glück

A handful of times a lifetime, if you are lucky, an experience opens a trapdoor in your psyche with its almost unbearable beauty and strangeness, its discomposing unlikeness to anything you have known before. Down, down you go into the depths of the unconscious, dark and fertile with the terror and longing that make for suffering, the surrender that makes for the end of suffering, not in resignation but in faith.