For Love

July 26, 2009

posted by Caroline Picard

again, the asterix were inserted here to inicate stanza breaks and are not present in the original text.

For Love

for Bobbie

by Robert Creeley

Ysterday I wanted to

speak of it, that sense above

the others to me

important because all


that I know derives

from what it teaches me.

Today, what is it that

is finally so helpless,


different, despairs of its own

statement, wants to

turn away, endlessly

to turn away.


If the moon did not…

no, if you did not

I wouldn’t either, but

what would I not


now. Can I eat

what you give me. I

have not earned it. Must

I think of everything


as earned. Now love also

becomes a reward so

remote from me I have

only made it with my mind.


Here is tedium,

despair, a painful

sense of isolation and

whimsical if pompous


self-regard. But that image

is only of the mind’s

vague structure, vague to me

because it is my own.


Love, what do I think

to say. I cannot say it.

What have you become to ask.

what have I made you into,


companion, good company,

crossed legs with skirt, or

soft body under

the bones of the bed.


Nothing says anything

but that which it wishes

would come true, fears

what else might happen in


some other place, some

other time not this one.

A voice in my place, an

echo of that only in yours.


Let me stumble into

not the confession but

the obsession I begin with

now. For you


also (also)

some time beyond place, or

place beyond time, no

mind left to


say anything at all,

that face gone, now.

Into the company of love

it all returns.


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