Louise Glück awarded Nobel Prize in Literature

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https://www.cnn.com/style/article/nobel-prize-2020-winner-literature-intl/index.html

The 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature has been awarded to the US poet Louise Glück "for her unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal."

She is the first American to win the prestigious award since Bob Dylan was honored in 2016. Toni Morrison was the last American to receive the prize before him, winning in 1993.

Glück, the 16th woman to win the literature prize, has published 12 collections of poetry and several volumes of essays on poetry. Her writing is characterized by a striving for clarity and focuses on themes of childhood and family relationships, according to notes from Anders Olsson, Chairman of the Nobel Committee.

But he emphasized that while autobiographical background was significant, she is not a confessional poet, comparing her to Emily Dickinson. Glück's work seeks the universal and she takes inspiration from myths and classical motifs, Olsson noted.

 

Vita Nova, by Louise Glück
 

You saved me, you should remember me.

 

The spring of the year; young men buying tickets for the ferryboats.

Laughter, because the air is full of apple blossoms.

 

When I woke up, I realized I was capable of the same feeling.

 

I remember sounds like that from my childhood,   

laughter for no cause, simply because the world is beautiful,

something like that.

 

Lugano. Tables under the apple trees.

Deckhands raising and lowering the colored flags.

And by the lake’s edge, a young man throws his hat into the water;

perhaps his sweetheart has accepted him.

 

Crucial

sounds or gestures like

a track laid down before the larger themes

 

and then unused, buried.

 

Islands in the distance. My mother   

holding out a plate of little cakes—

 

as far as I remember, changed

in no detail, the moment

vivid, intact, having never been

exposed to light, so that I woke elated, at my age   

hungry for life, utterly confident—

 

By the tables, patches of new grass, the pale green   

pieced into the dark existing ground.

 

Surely spring has been returned to me, this time   

not as a lover but a messenger of death, yet   

it is still spring, it is still meant tenderly.