There she is,/ old friend Liz: Creeley

Susan Rothenberg, 2005

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it's later

and onto your table the headwaiter

puts the bill, and very soon after

rings out the sound of lively laughter--

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,

and a face like a barndoor's,

and a head without any apparent size,

nothing but two eyes--

So that's you, man,

or me. I make it as I can,

I pick up, I go

faster than they know--

Out the door, the street like a night,

any night, and no one in sight,

but then, well, there she is,

old friend Liz--

And she opens the door of her cadillac,

I step in back,

and we're gone.

She turns me on--

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,

and from somewhere very far off someone hands

me a slice of apple pie,

with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,

and I eat it--

Slowly. And while certainly

they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket

of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

Robert Creeley

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Agora, no returno, em que já há suficiente educação, talvez não haja mais necessidade de tradução. E se há na rede uma boa e sólida introdução aos modos e peças da poesia de creeley, aí segue o linque:

http://bit.ly/H5P5Iy