Creeley Led

Robert Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, to breathing lines.

Creeley led me to and through Robert Grenier.

Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, to lines that breathed. I gasped. I held my breath. I listened. I caught the air.

Creeley led me back to Charles Olson.

Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, to poems that thought.

Creeley led me to and through Larry Eigner.

Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, to thinking poems unfolding, vulnerable, in the wide open.

Creeley led me to and through Rae Armantrout.

Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, to poems with honesty like few other poems.

Creeley led me back to William Carlos Williams.

Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, the singular, steady, generous gaze of poetry.

Creeley led me to Creeley the poem, to the poem from Life & Death:

"WHEN IT COMES..."

When it comes,

it loses edge,

has nothing around it,

no place now present

but impulse not one's own,

and so empties into a river

which will flow on

into a white cloud

and be gone.

*

Not me's going!

I'll hang on till

last wisp of mind's

an echo, face shreds

and moldering hands,

and all of whatever

it was can't say

any more to

anyone.