Well Bottom Blues

I’m reading straight through Louise Glück, wondering how I missed her decades ago, why she didn’t leap out at me from some anthology,  before I settled into reading the same dozen books over and over for half a life.

There are a raft of poems in the middle of the Poems (1962_2012) in which I hear an echo of someone I know. I’m reading it on Kindle but bought two copies just now online, one like new, one used but good. I’m considering giving her the used one, and surreptitiously turning down some pages myself where I see a glimpse of her in the poems.

Nearing the end, reading Averno, I hear something like the mature Yates, that yearning still spiraling through the growing twilight. it’s late and I’m still sitting here reading, sitting as close to that candle as I can.