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we had dreamed the leaves
mood: 
sad
sadThe brilliant poet Robin Blaser died of a brain tumour on May 7, 2009, in Vancouver, at age 83. I got to meet him a few years ago when Gary Snyder brought Robin to UC Davis to read, and introduced me. Robin, along with Jack Spicer, is one of my favorite poets from the mid-20th century. Adios, Robin.
All Good Things - Jobe
---
Robin Blaser (1925-2009)
Who's There?
the room talks to itself
coloured Persian
and wraps its thinking-
lights around
the man bent over
a drinking fountain
who is black
and white
who transliterates
into one crouching
over his book
of loose pages
and another clapping
his hands and pointing
his toe
playing musical chairs
and chances
among deep-seated minds
whose laughter counter-
points the razzle
of crows outside
cawing down the chimney
as if to enter between
firecat-andiron's
serious, childish, jasper eyes
the room talking to itself
Moments
Thematicists think it all makes sense
Plato fucked the middle voice
Wilde said, 'Either those drapes go or I go'
bp : 'death words : "what I meant to say was"'
McCaffery : 'abstract ruin'
our battle with the book is our Buddhist battle
Romance
the opposite of meaning is not
meaninglessness, what do these big
words mean in the panic, well,
panic means heart before we had
formed this, it was Pan, my dear,
and tufts of plants before we had
planned or kissed it, before
we had dreamed the leaves and
historical consequences, before the
painted ocean and storms, before
the water everywhere, drunken and
sunned, stopped us, before the
rock of our spirit, before doorsteps
and fountains and fragments, before
cats and dogs and cities, the
endless footsteps, before sweetness
and mountains, before paradise
and walled gardens, before
streets and manufacture, cars
and desire, after stars and
constellations are probable, we
found it
