“The Implied Reader and Depressive Experience in Louise Glück’s The Wild Iris“ is still too close to me, where I am now, for me to offer much reflection. I admire Glück’s gift so much, and perhaps the way she put it at the center of her life — but in a way she is the inverted image of Ginsberg for me. His “Howl” was a cry of suffering that led him to a deeper joy; her poems of ordinary life and momentary intensities seem to have constructed slowly around her a cage, the terrible cage of selfhood.