he only has one eye

May 6, 2010

posted by Caroline Picard

Consider the squeaking table, how it bows under the weight. Sarah was making pasta.

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posted by Caroline Picard

The Awakening

July 26, 2009

posted by Caroline Picard

please note: the asterix are here used to signify stanza breaks. they are not present in the original poem, but (for some reason) i can’t get word press to leave empty lines.

kitchen telephone V

The Awakening

for Charles Olson

by Robert Creeley

He feels as he awakens,

but in the stream’s sudden mirror,

a pool of darkening water,

sees his size with his own two eyes.

*

The trees are taller here,

fall off to no field or clearning,

and depewnd on the inswept air

for the place in which he finds himself thus lost.

*

I was going on to tell you

when the door bell rang it was

another story as I know

previously had happened, had occured.

*

That was a woman’s impression

of the wonders of the morning, the same place,

whiter air now, and strong breezes

and the ring of a far off telephone.

*

God is no bone of whitened contention.

God is not air, nor hair, is not

a conclusive concluding

to remote yearnings. He moves

*

only as I move, you also move to

the awakening, across long rows, of beds,

stumble breathlessly, on leg pins and crutch,

moving at all as all men, because you must.

Bresson’s Movies

December 15, 2008

posted by Caroline Picard – i opened my inbox today and got this lovely poem from a dear friend. It seemed the right thing for a Monday in December.

click here to listen to Robert Creeley Reading reading this poem.

rcreeley2006

Bresson’s Movies

A movie of Robert
Bresson’s showed a yacht,
at evening on the Seine
all its lights on, watched

by two young, seemingly
poor people, on a bridge adjacent,
the classic boy and girl
of the story, any one

one cares to tell. So
years pass, of course, but
I identified with the young,
embittered Frenchman,

knew his almost complacent
anguish and the distance
he felt from his girl.
Yet another film

of Bresson’s has
the aging Lancelot with his
awkward armor standing
in a woods of small trees,

dazed, bleeding, both he
and his horse are
trying to get back to
the castle, itself of

no great size. It
moved me, that
life was after all
like that. You are

in love. You stand
in the woods, with
a horse, bleeding.
The story is true.

-Robert Creeley