A Creeley Kind of Day
Is it possible that I didn’t steal this Creeley photo from Kasey? Or this poem from Ploughshares? Is it possible you might enjoy them both, whether borrowed, begged, or stolen?
from The Diary of Francis Kilvert
One bell wouldn’t ring loud enough.
So they beat the bell to hell, Max,
with an axe, show it who’s boss,
boss. Me, I dreamt I dwelt in
someplace one could relax
but I was wrong, wrong, wrong.
You got a song, man, sing it.
You got a bell, man, ring it.
7 Responses to “A Creeley Kind of Day”
AMY KING View All →
Amy King is the recipient of the 2015 Winner of the Women’s National Book Association (WNBA) Award. Her latest collection, The Missing Museum, is a winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. She co-edited with Heidi Lynn Staples the anthology Big Energy Poets of the Anthropocene: When Ecopoets Think Climate Change. She also co-edits the anthology series, Bettering American Poetry, and is a professor of creative writing at SUNY Nassau Community College.
December 1st, 2005 at 8:51 pm eIn the photo, I think the dog is cooler than Creeley. As for the poem, theft is a beautiful thing in the arts, why not make your own thing from it. When I get home tonight after being beaten at pool & hopefully drinking a little too much beer, I’ll make some kind of other poem out of it & post it in the morning. It would be fun to see what you would do.
December 2nd, 2005 at 2:04 am eI love that photo of him. That is the one I used to do his portrait.
December 2nd, 2005 at 2:10 am eHe reminds me of Eddie Berrigan there.
I accept your challenge, Lars! And thanks for it …
Where is your Creeley portrait, Didi? Can you post a link?
December 2nd, 2005 at 2:16 am ehttp://www.cafepress.com/americanpoet.16616041
December 2nd, 2005 at 5:27 am eAny day that includes Creeley has to be a pretty damn good one. Thanks for the
photo and the poem.
December 2nd, 2005 at 12:41 pm eJust posted my Creeley poem.
& thanks for including me among the poet-types.
December 2nd, 2005 at 6:20 pm eOld Cantankerous
from The Diary of 3 a.m. Wake Up Calls
Two cats couldn’t meow loud enough.
So the third cat drowned them out, Scout,
with a yeowl, show ‘em who’s top cat,
cat. Me, I thought I laid in
some bed I could sleep in
but I was dreaming, dreaming, dreamt.
You got an old furry friend, mate, love it.
You got an old cranky cat, mate, loathe it.