Episode 13: Presque Isle

Connor and Jack discuss Louise Gluck's poem "Presque Isle"

Read the poem below or at this link.

For more on Louise Gluck, go here.

Presque Isle
By: Louise Gluck

In every life, there’s a moment or two.
In every life, a room somewhere, by the sea or
      in the mountains.

On the table, a dish of apricots. Pits in a white ashtray.

Like all images, these were the conditions of a pact:
on your cheek, tremor of sunlight,
my finger pressing your lips.
The walls blue-white; paint from the low bureau
        flaking a little.

That room must still exist, on the fourth floor,
with a small balcony overlooking the ocean.
A square white room, the top sheet pulled back over
        the edge of the bed.
It hasn’t dissolved back into nothing, into reality.
Through the open window, sea air, smelling of iodine.

Early morning: a man calling a small boy back from the water.
That small boy—he would be twenty now.

Around your face, rushes of damp hair, streaked with
        auburn.
Muslin, flick of silver. Heavy jar filled with white peonies.