For friendship
make a chain that holds,
to be bound to
others, two by two,
a walk, a garland,
handed by hands
that cannot move
unless they hold.
For friendship
make a chain that holds,
to be bound to
a walk, a garland,
handed by hands
that cannot move
unless they hold.
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I went to see Creeley. First I borrowed a car, then I drove down the Rhone valley to Avignon, then east to Lambesc. Lambesc was hard stony dark and rainy and talking a wild dialect. An old man with a herd of goats finallyunlocked the right road. When I came to the garden gate the first thought was that it would be much better to find the Rhone again and drive back and probably he wasn't at home anyhow. But there was a light in front so I went in and that was worthwhile - to get the princely welcome out of the heroic epos where the stranger is taken in , offered wine treasures and lodging for the night without questions. He is marvellously gifted. It is rare that one so young and indeed at any age can look inwards and outward at the same timeand have the sure grasp which directs without destroying. She is amazingly beauiful, she has bitten the sour apple, and our twenty fingers and four feet have worked the same old asthmatic harmonium in Provincetown. ....You two have rubbed salt into each others wounds. It's enough to make one sad. ~~ Judith Binder [from a letter to Cid Corman dated August 11, 1952] |
Tonight I will light a stick of incense to honor the passing of an extraordinary poet, my friend, Robert Creeley. Even to those who didn't have the good fortune to meet him, even to those who never even heard of him, his death is a loss: this generous man whose sharp eye was always on the lookout for what cannot be said.
~~ Joel Weishaus |
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Judith has given me permission to pass those words onto you so feel free to use for the Creeley tribute. I thought it to be a report worth circulating to friends of Bob. I never met him but I spoke with him a number of times - always kind. I recall having great difficulty reading him until I heard him reading - then his lines became clear. Hard to admit he is gone. ~~ Richard Aaron |
Iwill always remember Bob as I first met him, now thirty-seven years ago, in fine company with surrealist poet Nanos Valaoritis, Liam O'Gallagher and painter Robert Rheem, so that I might again taste that cheap burgundy and dance walleyed into early morning Chinatown for breakfast. Namasté old friend & OnWords! ~~ Hammond Guthrie |
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March 30, 2005 I can't hear. Is poetry still is the true voice still ------------------ For Robert Creeley A stack I can later, find pieces onto ~~ Nora Hibbard |
