Usually behind a paywall… The Paris Review is opening up some of their archives to remember Louise Glück. #poetry 
The Paris Review
Louise Glück
Stories, poems, essays, and interviews from The Paris Review by Louise Glück
Katrin
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“More than anything else, Louise loved it when something was surprising and, in retrospect, inevitable, as it is so often in her work, and in our lives—like the ending of her #poem “Happiness”:
“I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning wheel
passes gently over us.’”
The Paris Review
In Remembrance of Louise Glück by Srikanth Reddy
October 16, 2023 – “Glück’s death marks a line break, but not a full stop.”
“To the uninitiated, Louise Glück — who died on Friday at the age of 80 — could feel like an intimidating or chilly poet, her range of references so lofty and seemingly private that her work could come off as stern, austere. But to read her that way was to miss both her cool clarity and her often puckish wit; her poems, which drew on mythology and nature to explore themes of love and loss and disciplined engagement with the world, were chilly only in the bracing manner of a good martini.” 
Five Louise Glück Poems to Get You Started (Published 2023)
The American writer, who won a Nobel Prize in 2020, wrote with cool clarity and often puckish wit.
Another great day… celebrated my nephew’s birthday… and enjoyed some backyard football. 📸: me— captured my son playing football with his cousins— my sisters’ kids. He was QB 🏈 
Louise Glück’s passing has undone me— I need an outlet to grieve this artist who has impacted me so deeply. Going to open one of my journals📝this morning — her poems are powerful but also tender— to say the very, very least. One of her books— on this rainy day. 
Busy weekend… heading to a wedding later. My friend’s daughter is getting married this afternoon… but there is rain in the forecast ALL day. I feel so bad—Pittsburgh weather 🤯😢
“when was I silenced, when did it first seem
pointless to describe that sound
what it sounds like can't change what it is—
didn't the night end, wasn't the earth
safe when it was planted
didn't we plant the seeds,
weren't we necessary to the earth,
the vines, were they harvested?”
RIP to a poet who has inspired me for decades.
Poets.org
October (section I)
Is it winter again, is it cold again,
Only seeing this news now 💔💔 Rest In Peace Louise Glück 
Louise Glück, 80, Nobel-Winning Poet Who Explored Trauma and Loss, Dies (Published 2023)
Acclaimed as one of America’s greatest living writers, she blended deeply personal material with themes of mythology and nature.
Fun night at “The Untitled Art Party” but home before midnight… 📸: husband 
Ordered a book of Anna Akhmatova #poems on my lunch break. Also rereading Brodsky discuss her: “This is what no researcher of her work can penetrate because we are people of a different culture. We no longer have this ability to correlate events in time and space. This kind of disposition is possible only given a specific degree—not of tranquillity exactly, but of a different biorhythm.
It's not the same glut of events, phenomena, and so forth that has collapsed on us. I think that in prerevolutionary Russia, and even after that whole remarkable revolution, this other rhythm still—at least partly defined a person's existence. That kind of rhythm is a marker of a different era —the turn of the century.”
This comment fascinates me: “a different biorhythm”
#sunrise #friday #october
The joke ultimately is on Nostr Town Square— just a hunch. Sustainability.
So many words… compressed time.
I have her whole book of poems called “Traveling Light”
This is one poem:
Poets.org
Traveling Light
I'm only leaving you
“You must be serene on the stage,
let panic live in the blade, but remain
still. The sound of the
audience will carry you
like a ship to the center of your storm”
"Sword Swallowing Lessons"
from a #poem byJudy Kaber
From October 10th episode:
973: Sword Swallowing Lessons
Today’s poem is Sword Swallowing Lessons by Judy Kaber.
“Like Woolf, Garner knows that self and other become tangled in the art of estrangement. ‘In a shop window in Merimbula I saw my face reflected and gave myself a fright,’ Nora thinks immediately after she falls in love with Javo. ‘My hair was wild and stiff with salt, standing on end all over my head. My face was burned almost back to paleness and my eyes stared out of dirty skin. I liked myself: I looked strong and healthy.’ Desire has made her strange to herself by attuning her to the strangeness of another, since there is nothing stranger, nothing more amazing or concerning, than to see yourself reflected through another person’s interested gaze, or for your reflection to melt and resurface as the person moves closer and further away. When Javo leaves her, Nora cuts off all her hair and chases her reflection for pages, failing to recognize who she was in what she sees: ‘I saw the bumpy shape of my skull, I saw myself shorn and revealed. I wandered in a dream around the city, glimpsing in shop windows a strange creature with my face.’ ~Merve Emre 
London Review of Books
Merve Emre · On the Dizzy Edge: Helen Garner