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Louise Glück (Луиза Глюк)


Mother and Child


We're all dreamers; we don't know who we are.

Some machine made us; machine of the world, the constricting family.
Then back to the world, polished by soft whips.

We dream; we don't remember.

Machine of the family: dark fur, forests of the mother's body.
Machine of the mother: white city inside her.

And before that: earth and water.
Moss between rocks, pieces of leaves and grass.

And before, cells in a great darkness.
And before that, the veiled world.

This is why you were born: to silence me.
Cells of my mother and father, it is your turn
to be pivotal, to be the masterpiece.

I improvised; I never remembered.
Now it's your turn to be driven;
you're the one who demands to know:

Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant?
Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us;
it is your turn to address it, to go back asking
what am I for? What am I for?



Louise Glück's other poems:
  1. Hyacinth
  2. The Racer's Widow
  3. Parable of the Hostages
  4. A Myth of Devotion
  5. Vita Nova


Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Janet Hamilton (Джанет Гамильтон) Mother and Child ("O come, little Mary, the woods are in tune")

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    Английская поэзия