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Quote by Louise Glück

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The Seven Ages: Bold and Masterful Poems on Death, Metamorphosis, and Embracing the Inevitable

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Author

Louise Glück
Louise Glück

Louise Glück (born April 22, 1943) is an American poet and essayist, awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2020. Born in New York City to Hungarian Jewish immigrants, she developed a passion for poetry early in life. She studied at Sarah Lawrence College and Columbia University. Glück's poetry is known for its precise, austere language and deep psychological insight, often exploring themes of family, love, death, and nature. Her major works include 'The Wild Iris' (1992), 'The Seven Ages' (2001), and 'Faithful and Virtuous Night' (2014). She has received numerous honors, including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award, and served as U.S. Poet Laureate from 2003 to 2004. Her works have been translated into many languages and have had a profound impact on contemporary poetry. more

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“Above this crystal pool are rows of lighted candles, flames flickering in the wind. Carved orange lanterns line the crags. O, ignisfatuus, foolish fire. O, the lantern in the mire. Spirits quaking with the light, demon darkness, far too bright. Orange whispers, yellow cries; ever-haunting, numb good-byes. Good-bye, O childhood; Farewell, my nickel joys.”

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“Daniel seems to rise above the moon with a brilliance in his eyes. He steps toward the sea and screams, more in defiance than rage. “Mortality; O wretched death and mortality! Decay is a demon dream, schemed in symmetry. O, that death crucified might halt its talons, for all will ascend from the grave! Remember the fallen, the slain; their dust is our foundation. Consider their suffering and pain; for there lies a new creation.”

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“Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?” I stand at a dreadful distance. He speaks, “Silent stones of granite hue; enveloped now in sacred dew. Speak somber words of restless hope... of resurrection.” I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge.”

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“Daniel,” I speak through weariness, “God has given me little hope and less strength. I hear only a voice saying ‘no’ from the wings of this circling stage.” “Ah, because we worship the gods of the arts in our wavering world; the mock souls and masked faces with painted-on peace. What do you expect of a forgery?” He pauses as he turns toward me. “Reality is no longer relevant.” Darkness chokes the moon as we rest on stirring sand.”

LifeLightPainHopePeaceDespairDepressionSuicideOctoberHallows
Book:An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness
Create image