Private: Sorry about the lack of umlauts. I used them all up listening to Husker Du.

This post was written by guest blogger Carrie Frye.

Sarabande Books has put out a chapbook of the Louise Gluck poem “October.” The poem appeared maybe a year and a half ago in the New Yorker, in an issue I accidentally tossed in a recycling binge. It’s an amazing poem — electrifying, really. So it’s great to be able to lay hands on a copy.

The chapbook contains only the one poem, which is nice as it keeps the reader from glutting herself — it’s like being allowed to look at only one painting in a museum.

As the title suggests, the poem’s preoccupations are metaphysically autumnal. Here’s a piece from section III:

Winter was over. In the thawed dirt,
bits of green were showing.

Come to me, said the world. I was standing
in my wool coat at a kind of bright portal
I can finally say
long ago; it gives me considerable pleasure. Beauty

the healer, the teacher

death cannot harm me
more than you have harmed me,
my beloved life.

Last week, Rake’s Progress linked to this Gluck site. I found this article part. interesting, though I must confess that I can’t remember anyone asking Billy Collins about his bulimia or Robert Pinsky about his habit of cutting himself.