Vespers [“Once I Believed in You…]

Once I believed in you; I planted a fig tree.

Here, in Vermont, country

of no summer. It was a test: if the tree lived,

it would mean you existed.

 

By this logic, you do not exist. Or you exist

exclusively in warmer climates,

in fervent Sicily and Mexico and California,

where are grown the unimaginable

apricot and fragile peach. Perhaps

they see your face in Sicily; here we barely see

the hem of your garment. I have to discipline myself

to share with John and Noah the tomato crop.

 

If there is justice in some other world, those

like myself, whom nature forces

into lives of abstinence, should get

the lion's share of all things, all

objects of hunger, greed being

praise of you. And no one praises

more intensely than I, with more

painfully checked desire, or more deserves

to sit at your right hand, if it exists, partaking

of the perishable, the immortal fig,

which does not travel.

 

Louise Glück (1943–2023) was an American poet who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2020 for what the poet Robert Hass called “her unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal.” From 2003 to 2004, she was Poet Laureate of the United States. Glück is best known for lyric poems of linguistic precision and dark tone. The poet Craig Morgan Teicher has described her as a writer for whom "words are always scarce, hard won, and not to be wasted". The scholar Laura Quinney has argued that her careful use of words put Glück into "the line of American poets who value fierce lyric compression", from Emily Dickinson to Elizabeth Bishop. Glück's poems shifted in form throughout her career, beginning with short, terse lyrics composed of compact lines and expanding into connected book-length sequences. Her work is not known for poetic techniques such as rhyme or alliteration. Rather, the poet Robert Hahn has called her style "radically inconspicuous" or "virtually an absence of style", relying on a voice that blends "portentous intonations" with a conversational approach.

Brian Suntken

It’s my sixtieth trip around the sun this year. I share some wisdom, some photography, some poetry and prayers for the journey ahead.

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Veni, Creator Spiritus