Faithful and Virtuous Night

The strength of her first poems is outstanding. Many favorites: “Parable”, “An adventure”, “The past”, “Faithful and virtuous night”, “Visitors from abroad”, “Utopia”, “Cornwall”, “The open window”, “A foreshortened journey”.

And then, there are “The Melancholy Assistant” and “The White Series” who could have been so much better, if only she would have stopped earlier, when the poem reached its natural conclusion... Instead, she added a few more verses, ending with a question, and the poem lost its unity.

I wanted to give it five stars but many poems on the last third lacked the splendor of the firsts.

  ‘'The streetlights were coming on, lining the sides of the river. The offices were going dark. At the river's edge,fog encircled the lights,one could not, after a while, see the lightsbut a strange radiance suffused the fog,its source a mystery.''                 Cornwall
When you find yourselves in the mystical company of Louise Gluck's poems, you will be asked to take a walk. A walk that reflects our long journey of Life. The Long Night.
‘'And snow fell upon us, and wind blew,which in time abated - where the snow had been, many flowers appeared,and where the stars had shone, the sun rose over the tree lineso that we had shadows again.''             Parable
The nights are thoughts. And the thoughts are hearts.
‘'Shadows moving. The ropes making the sound they make. What you hear nowwill be the sound of the nightingale, chordata,the male bird courting the female -
The ropes shift. The hammocksways in the wind, tiedfirmly between two pine trees.
Smell the air. That is the smell of the white pine.
It is my mother's voice you hearor is it only the sound the trees makewhen the air passes through them.
because what sound would it make, passing through nothing?''              The Past
The stars are the token of a childhood loaded with obstacles. They are the memories of a family that come alive in the silent night.
‘'Outside, night was falling. Was thisthat last night, star-covered, moonlight - spatteredlike some chemical preservingeverything immersed in it?
My aunt had lit the candle.''    Faithful and Virtuous Night
Nights are made of mist and silence as depicted in Cornwall, a poem whose imagery is outstanding. It is a sword in the stone, piercing a heart. Cornwall, London, Montana. The Horse and the Rider, the Cursed Artist. In the night, myths and Life meet.
‘'The street was white again,all the bushes covered with heavy snowand the trees glittering, encased with ice.
I lay in the dark, waiting for the night to end.It seemed the biggest night I had ever known,bigger than the night I was born.
I write about you all the time, I said aloud.Every time I say ‘I', it refers to you.''                     Visitors from Abroad
Whether in nightly walks, when the echoing silence is there to keep us company, or in the meeting of two strangers in a park, Gluck opens a door to our soul...
‘'I think here I will leave you. It has come to seemthere is no perfect ending.Indeed, there are infinite endings.Or, perhaps, once we begin,there are only endings.''       Faithful and Virtuous Night
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