Robert Creeley -American poet


Robert Creeley 
Once known primarily for his association with the group called the “Black Mountain Poets,” at the time of his death in 2005, Robert Creeley was widely recognized as one of the most important and influential American poets of the twentieth century.
His poetry is noted for both its concision and emotional power.
Albert Mobilio, writing in the Voice Literary Supplement, observed: “Creeley has shaped his own audience.

  The much imitated, often diluted minimalism, the compression of emotion into verse in which scarcely a syllable is wasted, has decisively marked a generation of poets.”
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/robert-creeley 

The Mirror-Robert Creeley

 Seeing is believing.
Whatever was thought or said, these persistent,
inexorable deaths
make faith as such absent,
our humanness a question,
a disgust for what we are.
Whatever the hope, here it is lost.
Because we coveted our difference,
here is the cost.

Ο ΚΑΘΡΕΦΤΗΣ
Πιστεύεις ότι βλέπεις.
Οτιδήποτε σκεφτήκαμε ή είπαμε,
αυτοί οι επίμονοι, αμείλικτοι θάνατοι
καθιστούν την πίστη τόσο ανύπαρκτη,
την ανθρωπιά μας ένα ερώτημα,
μια αποστροφή γι’ αυτό που είμαστε.

Όποια κι αν είναι η ελπίδα,
εδώ πέρα είναι χαμένη.
Επειδή τη διαφορά μας ποθήσαμε,
εδώ είναι το κόστος.(μετάφραση, Γιάννη Λειβαδας)

The Language

By Robert Creeley

Locate I
love you some-
where in
teeth and  
eyes, bite  
it but
take care not  
to hurt, you  
want so
much so  
little. Words  
say everything.
I
love you
again,
then what  
is emptiness  
for. To
fill, fill.
I heard words  
and words full
of holes  
aching. Speech  
is a mouth.
Η γλώσσα -Robert Creeley(Μετάφραση, Μ-Λαμπράκη)
Τοποθέτησε Σ' Αγαπώ κά-
 που στα δόντια και μάτια,
δάγκωσέ το 

αλλά πρόσεξε μην πληγώσεις,
ζητάς τόσα πολλά, τόσο λίγα.

Οι λέξεις τα λένε όλα,
Σ' Αγαπώ πάλι,

για ποιο λόγο τότε το κενό.
Για να γεμίζει, ολοένα 

Άκουσα λέξεις και λέξεις 
γεμάτες τρύπες οδυνηρές
 Ο λόγος είναι στόμα.

The Rain-Robert Creeley

All night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quite, 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.

Δημοφιλείς αναρτήσεις

Εικόνα

Edgar Allan Poe

Εικόνα

Nikiforos Vrettakos