4 posts tagged “robert creeley”
Could write of fucking--
rather its instant or the slow
longing at times of its approach--
how the young man desires
how, older, it is never known
but, familiar, comes to be so.
How your breasts, love,
fall in a rhythm also familiar,
neither tired nor so young they
push forward. I hate the metaphors.
I want you. I am still alone,
but want you with me.
. . .
AMERICA
America, you ode for reality!
Give back the people you took.
. . .
Allen's saying as we fly out of NYC--the look of the city
underneath us like a cellular growth, "cancer"--so that
senses of men on the earth as an investment of it radiates
a world cancer--Burrough's "law" finally quite clear.
. . .
CITIZEN
Write a giggly ode about
motherfuckers--Oedipus--
or Lysergic Acid--a word
for an experience, verb
. . .
"But now it's come to distances..."
--Leonard Cohen.
My lady
fair with
soft
arms, what
can I say to
you—words, words
as if all
worlds were there.
THE WARNING
For love—I would
split open your head and put
a candle in
behind the eyes.
Love is dead in us
if we forget
the virtues of an amulet
and quick surprise.

Ann Mikolowski, “Robert Creeley” (1988).
Oil on linen. 3 1/4” x 2 3/8”. Collection Penelope Creeley.
from http://brooklynrail.org/2007/5/artseen/ann-mikolowski-two-ways-of-looking-in-a-
Ann Mikolowski: Two Ways of Looking in a Mirror
Center Galleries, College for Creative Studies, Detroit, Michigan March 16 – April 28, 2007
Works on Paper
Paul Kotula Projects, Ferndale, Michigan March 17 – April 21, 2007
In the chilled air of early spring, Lake Huron stretches into a crystalline body with no end in sight. The second largest of the great lakes, Huron borders most of Michigan’s east coast. In Ann Mikolowski’s “Ghostrider” (1988), thin layers of oil paint split the lake’s horizon into a sweeping gray and a turbulent blue that, together, evoke Mark Rothko or Barnett Newman in their consuming passage to the sublime.
