Malagueña
Death
enters, and leaves,
the tavern.
Black horses
and sinister people
travel the deep roads
of the guitar.
And there’s a smell of salt
and of female blood
in the fevered tuberoses
of the shore.
Death
enters and leaves,
and leaves and enters
the death
of the tavern.
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Its in this book, which is in a box in your garage:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.amazon.com/Collected-Poems-Robert-Creeley-1945-1975/dp/0520241584/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1320119328&sr=8-2
Here you go, friend:
ReplyDeletehttp://books.google.com/books?id=2jj-HhC_KCcC&printsec=frontcover&dq=The+Collected+Poems+of+Robert+Creeley,+1945-1975&hl=en&ei=umyvTs-xGeSz0QG6loWhAQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CDIQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=homage&f=false
Creeley references no such Lorca and Bly, but also Berrigan and Bob Dylan.
ReplyDelete"The tidy habit of sound / relations--must be in the / very works*, like.
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Words work / the author of many pieces."
That's key!
"no such" should be "not just." I'm drunk, don't judge me.
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