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.
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