Try to think, said the teacher,
of an image from your childhood.
Spoon, said one boy. Ah, said the teacher,
this is not an image. It is,
said the boy. See, I hold it in my hand
and on the convex side a room appears
but distorted, the middle taking longer to see
than the two ends. Yes, said the teacher, that is so.
But in the larger sense, it is not so: if you move your hand
even an inch, it is not so. You weren’t there, said the boy.
You don’t know how we set the table.
That is true, said the teacher. I know nothing
of your childhood. But if you add your mother
to the distorted furniture, you will have an image.
Will it be good, said the boy, a strong image?
Very strong, said the teacher.
Very strong and full of foreboding.
—Louise Glück
Louise Glück teaches at Yale and Stanford and lives in Cambridge. Her most recent book of poems is Faithful and Virtuous Night.
