Intrepid Girl Reporter

for Park Street
October 23, 2007, 3:31 pm
Filed under: reading

I have a friend at home who loves Robert Creeley, and I never bothered to read him until now, when I am in need of a little poetry in my life.

The Rain

by Robert Creeley

All night the sound had

come back again,

and again falls

this quiet, 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.



For No Clear Reason

by Robert Creeley

I dreamt last night

the fright was over, that

the dust came, and then water,

and women and men, together

again, and all was quiet

in the dim moon’s light.

A paean of such patience—

laughing, laughing at me,

and the days extend over

the earth’s great cover,

grass, trees, and flower-

ing season, for no clear reason.




It’s not instant love, but still – a paean of such patience. I am making a point to read more, in general.


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