“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… — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
I will go to the garden. I will be a romantic. I will sell myself in hell, in heaven also I will be. — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
God give you pardon from gratitude and other mild forms of servitude. — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
The Lady has always moved to the next town and you stumble on after Her. — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
Moon, moon, when you leave me alone all the darkness is an utter blackness, a pit of fear, a stench, hands unreasonable never to… — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
All of which was OK, as that proved then, I certainly wouldn't contradict it as a necessary sense of things. — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
That poetry survived in its formal agencies finally, and that prose survived to get something said. — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
He lives out in Orchard Park. I mean, to be able to sit on the bench so patiently, for whatever part, and to be… — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
Comes the time when it's later and onto your table the headwaiter puts the bill — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
It's the classic story form. All staying equal, or proving equal, or being equal, this will all continue, and the next time around, we'll… — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
It is hard going to the door cut so small in the wall where the vision which echoes loneliness brings a scent of wild… — Robert Creeley Copy Share Image
