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A Summer Garden. By Louise Glück. 1. Several weeks ago I discovered a photograph of my mother. sitting in the sun, her face flushed as with achievement or triumph. The sun was shining. The dogs. were sleeping at her feet where time was also sleeping, calm and unmoving as in all photographs.
Louise Glück’s poem, ‘End of Summer,’ explores the contemplative moments that follow the end of summer. Reality hits the speaker so hard, that even reliving the good moments is proving insufficient.
- Female
A Summer Garden. 1. Several weeks ago I discovered a photograph of my mother. sitting in the sun, her face flushed as with achievement or triumph. The sun was shining. The dogs. were sleeping at her feet where time was also sleeping, calm and unmoving as in all photographs. I wiped the dust from my mother’s face.
One summer she goes into the field as usual stopping for a bit at the pool where she often looks at herself, to see if she detects any changes. She sees the same person, the horrible mantle of daughterliness still clinging to her.
Summer. Remember the days of our first happiness, how strong we were, how dazed by passion, lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed, sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer, it seemed everything had ripened. at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered. Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.
Summer by Louise Gluck. Remember the days of our first happiness, how strong we were, how dazed by passion, lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed, sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer, it seemed everything had ripened. at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered.
sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer, it seemed everything had ripened at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered. Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window. But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that? The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
