LOUISE GLÜCK

 

 

Louise Glück

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I wanted to stay as I was, still as the world is never still, not in midsummer but the moment before the first flower forms, the moment nothing is as yet past— not midsummer, the intoxicant, but late spring, the grass not yet high at the edge of the garden, the early tulips beginning to open— like a child hovering in a doorway, watching the others, the ones who go first, a tense cluster of limbs, alert to the failures of others, the public falterings with a child’s fierce confidence of imminent power preparing to defeat these weaknesses, to succumb to nothing, the time directly prior to flowering, the epoch of mastery before the appearance of the gift, before possession.

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