Poem (Louise Gluck Poem)
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a ...
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a ...
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights Of early spring, and quiet again. Will Speech disturb you? We're ...
As a man and woman make a garden between them like a bed of stars, here they linger in the ...
No one's despair is like my despair-- You have no place in this garden thinking such things, producing the tiresome ...
I never turned anyone into a pig. Some people are pigs; I make them Look like pigs. I'm sick of ...
In the story of Patroclus no one survives, not even Achilles who was nearly a god. Patroclus resembled him; they ...
My mother's an expert in one thing: sending people she loves into the other world. The little ones, the babies--these ...
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