I think of Robert Creeley. The first poet I ever knew.
His books signed under the Christmas tree.
Reading his pamphlets of poems in bed late at night
on the sliver of my mattress unencumbered by stuffed animals,
I would pause at the end of a verse,
thinking I like the way this sounds
though I'm not sure what it means,
I'm pretty sure it is holy.
It was my first introduction to interpreting the unknowns in this world
and when i cant quite figure out what's going on
I close my eyes and think
though I'm not sure what this means,
I'm pretty sure it is holy.
THE HERO
- Each voice which was asked
- spoke its words, and heard
- more than that, the fair question,
- the onerous burden of the asking.
- And so the hero, the
- hero! stepped that gracefully
- into his redemption, losing
- or gaining life thereby.
- --Robert Creeley
Love this post Ker! I've been thinking a lot about poetry recently, or at least thinking that I should start reading more of it. It's hard to know where to start and sometimes the words feel so far away. Your sentiment,
ReplyDeleteI would pause at the end of a verse,
thinking I like the way this sounds
though I'm not sure what it means,
I'm pretty sure it is holy.
...is exactly how I still feel when reading poetry. Things are lost on me, I know it, but I still love how it sounds, and I know too know that it is holy.
xo