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TUESDAY

In Louise Glück’s world, every living thing breathes and speaks—and not just to say “Water me!” or “Curb your dog!” A wild iris teaches of death and rebirth: “[F]rom the center of my life came/a great fountain, deep blue/shadows on azure seawater.” The daisies catch our hipster detachment: “Say frankly what any fool/could read in your face: it makes sense/to avoid us, to resist/nostalgia.” And, in a poem called “Harvest,” God’s voice declares that earthly life “is at once the gift and the torment…with one gesture I established you/in time and in paradise.” Glück’s clear-eyed visions, brimming from the single white pages on which their concise wording presents them, kick Hallmark to the curb with Blake’s steel-toed boot: Everything that lives is not only holy, but also aware of your darkest secrets—and unafraid to gossip. Hear the poet laureate’s own voice when Glück reads at 6:45 p.m. in the Library of Congress’ James Madison Building, Mumford Room, 101 Independence Ave. SE. Free. (202) 707-5394. (Pamela Murray Winters)