For Love by Robert Creeley
Production and Sound Design by Kevin Seaman For Love by Robert Creeley for Bobbie Yesterday I wanted to speak of it, that sense above the others to me important because all that I know derives from what it teaches me. Today, what is it that is finally so helpless, different, despairs of its own statement, wants to turn away, endlessly to turn away. If the moon did not ... no, if you did not I wouldn’t either, but what would I not do, what prevention, what thing so quickly stopped. That is love yesterday or tomorrow, not now. Can I eat what you give me. I have not earned it. Must I think of everything as earned. Now love also becomes a reward so remote from me I have only made it with my mind. Here is tedium, despair, a painful sense of isolation and whimsical if pompous self-regard. But that image is only of the mind’s vague structure, vague to me because it is my own. Love, what do I think to say. I cannot say it. What have you become to ask, what have I made you into, companion, good company, crossed legs with skirt, or soft body under the bones of the bed. Nothing says anything but that which it wishes would come true, fears what else might happen in some other place, some other time not this one. A voice in my place, an echo of that only in yours. Let me stumble into not the confession but the obsession I begin with now. For you also (also) some time beyond place, or place beyond time, no mind left to say anything at all, that face gone, now. Into the company of love it all returns.
