Read an Excerpt
The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley 1975â?"2005
By Robert Creeley UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
Copyright © 2006 the Estate of Robert Creeley
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-520-94167-0
CHAPTER 1
Wellington, New Zealand
"That's the way
(that's the way
I like it
(I like it"
* * *
Clouds coming close.
* * *
Never forget
clouds dawn's
pink red acid
gash–!
* * *
Here comes
one now!
* * *
Step out into
space. Good
morning.
* * *
Well, sleep,
man.
* * *
Not man,
mum's
the word.
* * *
What do you
think those hills
are going to do now?
* * *
They got
all the
lights on–
all the people.
* * *
You know
if you never
you won't
2/29
It's the scale
that's attractive,
and the water
that's around it.
* * *
Did the young
couple come
only home
from London?
Where's the world
one wants.
* * *
Singular,
singular,
one
by one.
* * *
I wish I
could see the stars.
* * *
Trees want
to be still?
Winds
won't let them?
* * *
Anyhow,
it's night now.
Same clock ticks
in these different places.
3/1
Dunedin
River wandering down
below in the widening green
fields between the hills–
and the sea and the town.
Time settled, or waiting,
or about to be. People,
the old couple, the two babies,
beside me–the so-called
aeroplane. Now
be born,
be born.
* * *
I'll never
see you,
want you,
have you,
know you–
I'll never.
* * *
"Somebody's got to pay
for the squeaks in the bed."
* * *
Such quiet,
dog's scratch at door–
pay for it all?
* * *
Walking
and talking.
Thinking
and drinking.
* * *
Night.
Light's out.
3/3
"Summa wancha
out back"
Australia
* * *
"Sonny Terry,
"Brownie McGhee"
in Dunedin (in
Dunedin
3/4
10:30 AM: Ralph Hotere's
Warm.
See sun shine.
Look across valley at houses.
Chickens squawk.
Bright glint off roofs.
Water's also,
in bay, in distance.
Hills.
3/5
Christchurch
You didn't think you
could do it but you did.
You didn't do it
but you did.
* * *
Catching Cold
I want to lay down
and die–
someday–but
not now.
* * *
South, north, east, west,
man–home's best.
* * *
Nary an exit
in Christchurch.
Only
wee holes.
3/9
Out Window: Taylor's Mistake
Silver,
lifting
light–
mist's
faintness.
* * *
Friend Says of Job
FOR BARRY SOUTHAM
You get to see all kinds of life
like man chasing wife
in the driveway
with their car.
Mutual property!
They want to sell their house?
* * *
Elsewise absences,
eyes a grey blue,
tawny Austrian
hair–the voice,
speaking, there.
* * *
Hermione, in the garden,
"weeping at grief?"
Stone-statued single woman–
eyes alive.
* * *
Milton über Alles
When I consider
how my life is spent
ere half my years
on this vast blast
are o'er ...
* * *
Reasoned recognitions–
feelings fine.
* * *
Welcome
to the world,
it's still
pretty much the same.
That kiwi
on yon roof
is a symbol,
but the ocean
don't change.
It's all round!
Don't
let them kid you.
3/11
Palmerston North
Soup
I know what you'd say
if I could ask you–
but I'm tired of it–
no word, nothing again.
Letter from guy says,
"she looks well,
happy, working hard–"
Forget it.
I'm not there.
I'm really here,
sitting,
with my hat on.
It's a great day
in New Zealand
more or less.
I'm not alone in this.
Lady out window hangs clothes,
reds and blues–
basket, small kid,
clothespins in mouth.
Do I want to fuck,
or eat?
No problem.
There's a telephone.
I know what you mean,
now "down under" here,
that each life's
got its own condition
to find,
to get on with.
I suppose it's
letting go, finally,
that spooks me.
And of course my arms
are full as usual.
I'm the only one I know.
May I let this be
West Acton, and
myself six? No,
I don't travel that way
despite memories,
all the dear or awful
passages apparently
I've gone through.
Back to the weather,
and dripping nose
I truly wanted to forget here,
but haven't–
ok, old buddy,
no projections, no regrets.
You've been a dear friend
to me in my time.
If it's New Zealand
where it ends,
that makes a weird sense
too. I'd never have guessed it.
Say that all the ways
are one–consumatum est–
like some soup
I'd love to eat with you.
3/16
This wide, shallow bowl,
the sun, earth here
moving easy, slow
in the fall, the air
with its lightness, the
underchill now–flat, far out,
to the mountains and the forest.
Come home to its song?
* * *
Sitting at table–
good talk
with good people.
* * *
River's glint, wandering
path of it.
Old trees grown tall,
maintain,
look down on it all.
* * *
Bye-bye, kid says,
girl, about five–
peering look,
digs my one eye.
* * *
Sun again, on table,
smoke shaft of cigarette,
ticking watch,
chirr of cicadas–
all world, all mind, all heart.
3/17
Wellington
Here again,
shifting days,
on the street.
The people of my life
faded,
last night's dreams,
echoes now.
The vivid sky, blue,
sitting here in the sun–
could I let it go?
Useless question?
Getting old?
* * *
I want to be a dog,
when I die–
a dog, a dog.
* * *
Bruce & Linley's House
Fire back of grate
in charming stove
sits in the chimney hole,
cherry red–
but orange too.
* * *
Mrs. Manhire saw me
on plane to Dunedin,
but was too shy to speak
in her lovely Scots accent.
We meet later,
and she notes the sounds are
not very sweet
in sad old Glasgow.
But my wee toughness,
likewise particularity,
nonetheless come
by blood from that city.
* * *
Love
Will you be dust,
reading this?
Will you be sad
when I'm gone.
3/19
Sit Down
Behind things
or in front of them,
always a goddamn
adamant number stands
up and shouts,
I'm here, I'm here!
–Sit down.
* * *
Mother and son
get up,
sit down.
* * *
Night
Born and bred
in Wellington
she said–
Light high,
street black,
singing still,
"Born & bred
in Wellington,
she said–"
* * *
Doggie Bags
Don't take
the steak
I ain't
Dunedin
* * *
The dishes
to the sink
if you've
Dunedin
* * *
Nowhere
else to go
no I'm not
Dunedin
* * *
Ever if
again home
no roam
(at the inn)
Dunedin
* * *
Maybe
Maybe
this way again
someday–
thinking, last night,
of Tim Hardin, girl singing,
"Let me be your rainy day man ..."
What's the time, dear.
What's happening.
* * *
Stay
in Dunedin
for
forever
and a day.
* * *
Thinking light,
whitish blue,
sun's
shadow on
the porch
floor.
* * *
Why, in Wellington,
all the "Dunedin"–
Why here
there.
3/21
Hamilton
Hamilton Hotel
Magnolia tree out window
here in Hamilton–
years and years ago
the house, in France,
called Pavillion des Magnolias,
where we lived and Charlotte
was born, and time's gone
so fast–.
* * *
Singing undersounds,
birds, cicadas–
overcast grey day.
Lady far off across river,
sitting on bench there,
crossed legs, alone.
* * *
If the world's one's
own experience of it,
then why walk around
in it, or think of it.
More would be more
than one could know
alone, more than myself 's
small senses, of it.
3/22
Auckland
So There
FOR PENELOPE
Da. Da. Da da.
Where is the song.
What's wrong
with life
ever. More?
Or less–
days, nights,
these
days. What's gone
is gone forever
every time, old friend's
voice here. I want
to stay, somehow,
if I could–
if I would? Where else
to go.
The sea here's out
the window, old
switcher's house, vertical,
railroad blues, lonesome
whistle, etc. Can you
think of Yee's Cafe
in Needles, California
opposite the train
station–can you keep
it ever
together, old buddy, talking
to yourself again?
Meantime some yuk
in Hamilton has blown
the whistle on a charming
evening I wanted
to remember otherwise–
the river there, that
afternoon, sitting,
friends, wine & chicken,
watching the world go by.
Happiness, happiness–
so simple. What's
that anger is that
competition–sad!–
when this at least
is free,
to put it mildly.
My aunt Bernice
in Nokomis,
Florida's last act,
a poem for Geo. Washington's
birthday. Do you want
to say "it's bad"?
In America, old sport,
we shoot first, talk later,
or just take you out to dinner.
No worries, or not
at the moment,
sitting here eating bread,
cheese, butter, white wine–
like Bolinas, "Whale Town,"
my home, like they say,
in America. It's one world,
it can't be another.
So the beauty,
beside me, rises,
looks now out window–
and breath keeps on breathing,
heart's pulled in
a sudden deep, sad
longing, to want
to stay–be another
person some day,
when I grow up.
The world's somehow
forever that way
and its lovely, roily,
shifting shores, sounding now,
in my ears. My ears?
Well, what's on my head
as two skin appendages,
comes with the package.
I don't want to
argue the point.
Tomorrow
it changes, gone,
abstract, new places–
moving on. Is this
some old-time weird
Odysseus trip
sans paddle–up
the endless creek?
Thinking of you,
baby, thinking
of all the things
I'd like to say and do.
Old-fashioned time
it takes to be
anywhere, at all.
Moving on. Mr. Ocean,
Mr. Sky's
got the biggest blue eyes
in creation–
here comes the sun!
While we can,
let's do it, let's
have fun.
3/26
Sidney, Australia
Now
Hard to believe
it's all me
whatever
this world
of space & time,
this place,
body,
white,
inutile,
fumbling at the mirror.
3/27
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley 1975â?"2005 by Robert Creeley. Copyright © 2006 the Estate of Robert Creeley. Excerpted by permission of UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS.
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