Louise Bogan: The Changed Woman

The light flower leaves its little core
Begun upon the waiting bough.
Again she bears what she once bore
And what she knew she re-learns now.

The cracked glass fuses at a touch,
The wound heals over, and is set
In the whole flesh, and is not much
Quite to remember or forget.

Rocket and tree, and dome and bubble
Again behind her freshened eyes
Are treacherous. She need not trouble.
Her lids will know them when she dies.

And while she lives, the unwise, heady
Dream, ever denied and driven,
Will one day find her bosom ready,
That never thought to be forgiven.

~~~~

Louise Bogan (1897 – 1970) was appointed the fourth Poet Laureate to the Library of Congress in 1945, and was the first woman to hold this title. Throughout her life she wrote poetry, fiction, and criticism, and became the regular poetry reviewer for The New Yorker. Dictionary of Literary Biography contributor Brett C. Millier described her as “one of the finest lyric poets America has produced.” He said, “the fact that she was a woman and that she defended formal, lyric poetry in an age of expansive experimentation made evaluation of her work, until quite recently, somewhat condescending.

From Collected Poems of Louise Bogan 1923 – 1953 (Noonday Press, 1956). Included in Vox Populi for noncommercial educational purposes only.