With each successive book, her drive, the force of her gaze is fixed on what has yet to be imagined, invents a unique form. A lovely landscape seen from above. The unspeakable, the reiterated yet endlessly transfigured elements in the landscape – a copper beech, a garden, a horse, a dog, a field on fire, a mountain that persistently emerges, reappears with the energy of the inevitable. Louise Gluck’s writing is simple. She won the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature. An unmistakable poetic voice with an austere beauty.
From within the earth’s
bitter disgrace, coldness and barrenness
my love, the moon rises
she is beautiful tonight, but when is she not beautiful?