Now, I'm going to read two more poems.
This next poem is called "Across Lamarck Col."
Where's Lamarck?
"Across Lamarck Col."
A col, as some of you may not know,
is a notch in a mountain ridge which
can be crossed but just barely.
And in a way, I owe this poem--
I owe the inner workings of this poem
to the porch of Robert Creeley, which
I hope he won't object to.
It's a love poem.
"Descending hillsides in half morning light,
step over small down pine, I see myself as stony granite face.
All that we did was human, stupid, easily forgiven, not
quite right.
A giving stream you give another should
have been mine had I been not me, to whom not given,
who most needed, waited, stopt off, my me, my fault,
your black block mine, our, ours.
Myself a stony granite face.
You giving him because an other.
I also now become another.
What I had not from you, for you, with a new lover,
give and give and give and take."