In the Plaza

by Louise Glück

For two weeks he’s been watching the same girl,
someone he sees in the plaza. In her twenties maybe,
drinking coffee in the afternoon, the little dark head
bent over a magazine.
He watches from across the square, pretending
to be buying something, cigarettes, maybe a bouquet of flowers.

Because she doesn’t know it exists,
her power is very great now, fused to the needs of his imagination.
He is her prisoner. She says the words he gives her
in a voice he imagines, low-pitched and soft,
a voice from the south as the dark hair must be from the south.

Soon she will recognize him, then begin to expect him.
And perhaps then every day her hair will be freshly washed,
she will gaze outward across the plaza before looking down.
And after that they will become lovers.

But he hopes this will not happen immediately
since whatever power she exerts now over his body, over his emotions,
she will have no power once she commits herself—

she will withdraw into that private world of feeling
women enter when they love. And living there, she will become
like a person who casts no shadow, who is not present in the world;
in that sense, so little use to him
it hardly matters whether she lives or dies.


Adult trees,
dense woods
generous shadow.

Plaza underwent
recovery process.
Now fully renovated.

Did not have a single,
its numerous
trees, pruned.

Old plaza
with old trees,
the same in the new plaza.

Generous shadow,
from the old plaza
maintained for whom enjoys.

Everything can be renewed
without destroying everything,
for total reconstruction.

Nature is suffering more
with devastating reforms.
Fortunately here nature has been respected.



A large plaza.
Central point of the city.
A historic fountain.
Imposing and dominating.
All year marks its position.
Meeting point.
For young and old.

It’s Christmas.
Arrives its greatest symbol.
The Tree.
Not any one.
But A tree.
Grand in its size.
Attracts everyone of all ages.

Fountain now has company.
Induces euphoria to everyone,
remember these moments.
Lots and lots of photos
Every day, all day.
But the good also ends.

Christmas is gone.
The tree also.
It is only the nostalgia.
Around the day-to-day normal.
All routine all year.
Now alone fountain.
Back to reign on the great place.