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Louise Gluck - Poem

In the early evening, a now, as man is bending
over his writing table.
Slowly he lifts his head; a woman
appears, carrying roses.
Her face floats to the surface of the mirror,
marked with the green spokes of rose stems.

It is a form
of suffering: then always the transparent page
raised to the window until its veins emerge
as words finally filled with ink.

And I am meant to understand
what binds them together
or to the gray house held firmly in place by dusk

because I must enter their lives:
it is spring, the pear tree
filming with weak, white blossoms.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 3367 times | Comments and analysis of Poem by Louise Gluck Comments (0)

Poem - Comments and Information

Poet: Louise Gluck
Poem: Poem
Volume: The House on the Marshland
Year: Published/Written in 1975
Poem of the Day: Sep 10 2007
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