Well as we’re all aware, we lost this week a man whose thinking on the big
and the beautiful had a profound impact on the way we Americans view our
relationship to the world. I’m talking of course about Robert Creeley. He
was born in 1926 in Arlington, MA, literally down the road from where I’m
writing. The NYTimes had this, among other things, to say of him:
"’Visible truth,’ Mr. Creeley once wrote, quoting Melville, is ‘the
apprehension of the absolute condition of present things.’ That was the
goal of his own work – emotion compressed in short, sparse sentences and
an emphasis on feeling.
The critic Marjorie Perloff called Mr. Creeley an heir to Williams. He
took Williams’s vernacular style, casual diction and free-verse rhythms
that stressed the concrete, she said, and made them ‘new, more consonant
with our times – nervous, anxious, moving, erotically charged.’"
In short, he was a rad dude, a giant among poets if not widely known among
the genral reading public. In his honor we get this lovely poem about
rain. Seriously, is there any poem about rain that’s not lovely?
Sorry for the 1.5 day delay,
All night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.
What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
so often? Is it
that never the ease,
even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me
something other than this,
something not so insistent–
am I to be locked in this
Love, if you love me,
lie next to me.
Be for me, like rain,
the getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
with a decent happiness.