The genius that is American writer, Raymond Carver...
While post upon post can be written about Carver's life and work, let's just say that for all intents and purposes, his simplistic, yet utterly effective prose will send shivers down many a spine. He wasn't only one of the world's finest writers of short fiction, but also one of its most large-hearted and affecting poets.
Like Carver's stories, the more than 300 poems are marked by a keen attention to the physical world. His unflinching talent compressed vast feelings into three or four words and was truly a voice of conversational intimacy. The best aspect of all of his writing, however, was that he knew when to stop at the most precise moment.
While post upon post can be written about Carver's life and work, let's just say that for all intents and purposes, his simplistic, yet utterly effective prose will send shivers down many a spine. He wasn't only one of the world's finest writers of short fiction, but also one of its most large-hearted and affecting poets.
Like Carver's stories, the more than 300 poems are marked by a keen attention to the physical world. His unflinching talent compressed vast feelings into three or four words and was truly a voice of conversational intimacy. The best aspect of all of his writing, however, was that he knew when to stop at the most precise moment.
Enjoy this Saturday's poem ... It seems to be about a seemingly quiet morning outside on Raymond Carver's deck -- description of what seems like a typical, crisp morning in Carver Country. Peruse the poem and take from it what you will. Minimalism at its best. Enjoy, as always...
THE COBWEB
A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here.
-- Raymond Carver
____________________________________
THE COBWEB
A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here.
-- Raymond Carver
____________________________________
Poetry CollectionsNear Klamath (1968)
Winter Insomnia (1970)
At Night The Salmon Move (1976)
Where Water Comes Together
with Other Water (1985)
Ultramarine (1986)
A New Path To The Waterfall (1989)
Poetry Compilations
In a Marine Light: Selected Poems (1988)
Poetry Compilations
In a Marine Light: Selected Poems (1988)
All of Us: The Collected Poems (1996)
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