Borrowing From Robert Creeley

I've been depressed, the natural progression from busy, overwhelmed, and stressed. It's an old story. It's even an old story among poets.

I found this little gem in an old copy of American Poet -- I'm trying to recycle years of magazines so I don't have to move them back into the newly remodeled house. Anyway, I love it, it speaks both of the blackness and the energy that eventually comes again (if your drugs are good enough to keep you alive that long).

I Know A Man

As I sd to my
friend, because I am
always talking, -- John, I

sd, which was not his
name, the darkness sur-
rounds us, what

can we do against
it, or else, shall we &
why not, buy a goddamn big car,

drive, he sd, for
christ's sake, look
out where yr going.

Thank you, Robert Creeley. From The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1945-1975 (Univ. of Calif. Press, 2008)

PAD 8, 9 Rehashing

Okay, three days to make up for, two here, one in the next post, I don't trust blogger. I have been writing, just not blogging. Still waiting for my fans. Fat chance of a fart on the farm finding me.

pad 8 from about april 2

This is not a poem filled with symbols,
symbolism, images. Driving to work
I'm always writing these poems,
looking for birds, egrets white
in their wedding dresses, wings
tucked into their tails, tight
dive maneuvers or wide
right over my car, speeding
the ugliness of the cars,
hawks, always I see them only
one at a time, decked out in his
claws, proud on tall chain link.
Today the white and brown,
the possible wings, are just
trash, muddy newspaper nests of
rain water, flapping bags,
electric white slashed to
those same fences. Not a poem
among them. Not even irony.

pad 9 from march 20

in my car
small against my legs, back
big view, hills, rain
enormous sky flying by
blue or wide

my head touches the roof
air tastes like breath, mine, kids'
breath off banana peel
debris

it's very quiet here
except the banging of my mind
against the glass
a hammer, a song,
a laugh.