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Best Famous Robert Creeley Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Robert Creeley poems. This is a select list of the best famous Robert Creeley poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Robert Creeley poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Robert Creeley poems.

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Written by Robert Creeley | |

Other

 Having begun in thought there
in that factual embodied wonder
what was lost in the emptied lovers
patience and mind I first felt there
wondered again and again what for
myself so meager and finally singular
despite all issued therefrom whether
sister or mother or brother and father
come to love's emptied place too late
to feel it again see again first there
all the peculiar wet tenderness the care
of her for whom to be other was first fate.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

Kore

 As I was walking
 I came upon
chance walking
 the same road upon.
As I sat down by chance to move later if and as I might, light the wood was, light and green, and what I saw before I had not seen.
It was a lady accompanied by goat men leading her.
Her hair held earth.
Her eyes were dark.
A double flute made her move.
"O love, where are you leading me now?"


Written by Robert Creeley | |

Four Days In Vermont

 Window's tree trunk's predominant face
a single eye-leveled hole where limb's torn off
another larger contorts to swell growing in around
imploding wound beside a clutch of thin twigs
hold to one two three four five six dry twisted
yellowish brown leaves flat against the other
gray trees in back stick upright then the glimpse
of lighter still grayish sky behind the close
welted solid large trunk with clumps of gray-green
lichen seen in boxed glass squared window back
of two shaded lamps on brown chiffonier between
two beds echo in mirror on far wall of small room.


More great poems below...

Written by Robert Creeley | |

Goodbye

 She stood at the window.
There was a sound, a light.
She stood at the window.
A face.
Was it that she was looking for, he thought.
Was it that she was looking for.
He said, turn from it, turn from it.
The pain is not unpainful.
Turn from it.
The act of her anger, of the anger she felt then, not turning to him.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

Love

 The thing comes
of itself

 (Look up
to see
 the cat & the squirrel,
 the one
torn, a red thing,
 & the other
somehow immaculate


Written by Robert Creeley | |

The Rain

 All night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quite, persistent rain.
What am I to myself that must be remembered, insisted upon 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 final uneasiness.
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.
Be wet with a decent happiness.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

America

 America, you ode for reality!
Give back the people you took.
Let the sun shine again on the four corners of the world you thought of first but do not own, or keep like a convenience.
People are your own word, you invented that locus and term.
Here, you said and say, is where we are.
Give back what we are, these people you made, us, and nowhere but you to be.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

A Form Of Women

 I have come far enough
from where I was not before
to have seen the things
looking in at me from through the open door

and have walked tonight
by myself
to see the moonlight
and see it as trees

and shapes more fearful
because I feared
what I did not know
but have wanted to know.
My facd is my own, I thought.
But you have seen it turn into a thousand years.
I watched you cry.
I could not touch you.
I wanted very much to touch you but could not.
If it is dark when this is given to you, have care for its content when the moon shines.
My face is my own.
My hands are my own.
My mouth is my own but I am not.
Moon, moon, whn you leave me alone all the darkness is an utter blackness, a pit of fear, a stench, hands unreasonable never to touch.
But I love you.
Do you love me.
What to say when you see me.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

Ballad Of The Despairing Husband

 My wife and I lived all alone,
contention was our only bone.
I fought with her, she fought with me, and things went on right merrily.
But now I live here by myself with hardly a damn thing on the shelf, and pass my days with little cheer since I have parted from my dear.
Oh come home soon, I write to her.
Go fuck yourself, is her answer.
Now what is that, for Christian word? I hope she feeds on dried goose turd.
But still I love her, yes I do.
I love her and the children too.
I only think it fit that she should quickly come right back to me.
Ah no, she says, and she is tough, and smacks me down with her rebuff.
Ah no, she says, I will not come after the bloody things you've done.
Oh wife, oh wife -- I tell you true, I never loved no one but you.
I never will, it cannot be another woman is for me.
That may be right, she will say then, but as for me, there's other men.
And I will tell you I propose to catch them firmly by the nose.
And I will wear what dresses I choose! And I will dance, and what's to lose! I'm free of you, you little prick, and I'm the one to make it stick.
Was this the darling I did love? Was this that mercy from above did open violets in the spring -- and made my own worn self to sing? She was.
I know.
And she is still, and if I love her? then so I will.
And I will tell her, and tell her right .
.
.
Oh lovely lady, morning or evening or afternoon.
Oh lovely lady, eating with or without a spoon.
Oh most lovely lady, whether dressed or undressed or partly.
Oh most lovely lady, getting up or going to bed or sitting only.
Oh loveliest of ladies, than whom none is more fair, more gracious, more beautiful.
Oh loveliest of ladies, whether you are just or unjust, merciful, indifferent, or cruel.
Oh most loveliest of ladies, doing whatever, seeing whatever, being whatever.
Oh most loveliest of ladies, in rain, in shine, in any weather.
Oh lady, grant me time, please, to finish my rhyme.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

Water Music

 The words are a beautiful music.
The words bounce like in water.
Water music, loud in the clearing off the boats, birds, leaves.
They look for a place to sit and eat-- no meaning, no point.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

A Token

 My lady
fair with
soft
arms, what

can I say to
you-words, words
as if all
worlds were there.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

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.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

A Wicker Basket

 Comes the time when it's later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter--

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor's,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes--

So that's you, man,
or me.
I make it as I can, I pick up, I go faster than they know-- Out the door, the street like a night, any night, and no one in sight, but then, well, there she is, old friend Liz-- And she opens the door of her cadillac, I step in back, and we're gone.
She turns me on-- There are very huge stars, man, in the sky, and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie, with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it, and I eat it-- Slowly.
And while certainly they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket of these cats not making it, I make it in my wicker basket.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

Zero

 for Mark Peters

Not just nothing,
Not there's no answer,
Not it's nowhere or
Nothing to show for it -

It's like There's no past like
the present.
It's all over with us.
There are no doors.
.
.
Oh my god! Like I wish I had a dog.
Oh my god! I had a dog but he's gone.
His name was Zero, something for nothing! You like dog biscuits? Fill in the blank.


Written by Robert Creeley | |

The Carnival

 Whereas the man who hits
the gong dis-
proves it, in all its
simplicity --

Even so the attempt
makes for triumph, in
another man.
Likewise in love I am not foolish or in- competent.
My method is not a tenderness, but hope defined.