hecker

Amateur essayist, anime & manga fan

Resident of Howard County, Maryland, systems engineer, and amateur essayist and data scientist. Author of the book That Type of Girl: Notes on Takako Shimura's Sweet Blue Flowers. Staff writer for Okazu.


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We’re now past Easter and well into spring. For this third Sunday night poetry night selection riffing on “love, death, and the changing of the seasons,” here’s a poem about the changing of the seasons, which (in the Christianity-influenced Western tradition) is also a poem about death and resurrection. It’s by Louise Glück, who wrote the second poem I posted in this series, “The Triumph of Achilles”; this one is titled “The Wild Iris,” and is written in the voice of the flower:


At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

I originally planned to have this be my final post in this series. But since April is National Poetry Month, I’ll celebrate with two more Sunday night posts after this one.

If you’d like to read more


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