Louise Glück
 

https://www.theguardian.com/books/20...-in-literature


:)

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I'm reading her all day.


Dead End
Louise Glück

I said, "Listen, angel, wean me from this bit."
I said, "Divorce me from this crap, this steady diet
Of abuse with cereal, abuse
With vodka and tomato juice,
Your planted billets doux among the bric-a-brac."
Staying was my way of hitting back.
I tended his anemia and did the dishes
Four months—the whole vicious,
Standard cohabitation. But my dear, my dear,
If now I dream about your hands, your hair,
It is the vividness of that dead end
I miss. Like chess. Mind against mind.
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This is great news. I have been a fan of hers for decades.

Susan

Yes, great news. Her early books meant so much to me. I didn't expect it. I don't follow the who is on first news. Was she on the lists?

Yeah, she's wonderful. She's been an influence since I started. That's a great poem, Jim. (Gjertrud, too)

The poet of post-psychoanalytic privilege. I've read her going on 50 years and have never found anything interesting in her language.

Withdrawn.

She's competent, understated, with a subtle, quiet music.... Actually, that's elevator music, but it still works.

James, my poems consist of words and occasional punctuation marks.

James, my friend, perhaps you should look at the sign beside the door of the Sphere. It's a place where formal poets come to gather and meet and look out the window at the world that has run off its rails. We outliers, the ones who gather out back in the shed without need of windows or props, are the unwashed, to be seen, not heard. You have to expect that the Nobel Prize in Literature going to a poet like Gluck is going to create grumbling and throat clearing, even a little gas expulsion. Were you here when Dylan won it? We must learn from the past. Why someone is even saying one of the loudest poets of the last fifty years is elevator music. It's best for you and I, James, to hold back and let the stewing commence. It's harmless and will be over soon.