Conjunctions:40 40x40

Four Poems
The following appears with three additional Creeley poems in Conjunctions:40.

I’ll never forgive myself for the
violence propelled me at sad Paul
Blackburn, pushed in turn by both
our hopeless wives who were spitting
venom at one another in the heaven
we’d got ourselves to, Mallorca, midfifties,
where one could live for peanuts while
writing great words and looking at the
constant blue sea, etc. Why did I fight such
surrogate battles of existence with such
a specific friend as he was for sure?
Our first meeting NYC 1950 we talked two
and a half days straight without leaving the
apartment. He knew Auden and Yeats
by heart and had begun on Pound’s lead
translating the Provencal poets, and was
studying with Moses Hadas at NYU. How
sweet this thoughtful beleaguered vulnerable
person whose childhood was full of New
England abusive confusion, his mother the too
often absent poet, Frances Frost! I wish
he were here now, we could go on talking,
I’d have company of my own age in this
drab burned-out trashed dump we call the
phenomenal world where he once walked
the wondrous earth and knew its pleasures.

Robert Creeley (1926–2005) was one of the great poets of the twentieth century. Caves (Paradigm Press) was published in early 2005 in a limited edition. Other works include Earth, a collection of his last poems which was published by the University of California postmortem, as well as an essay Whitman in Age. In 2005, Conjunctions published memorial tributes to Creeley by nearly one hundred fellow writers in its online edition.