R.I.P. Robert Mitchell. Poet. Singer. Philosopher. 27th, 2008, N.Y. City
robert mitchell. poet. singer. philosopher. the eight year old bob mitchell arrived in ny in 1938 and has lived and worked there ever since. he died june 27th, 2008 in ny city. “my story” i came to a circle of monolithic stone and dwelt there, in two rooms, all the rest of my days on earth. at times i go to explore but i always return to the space of my own silence, the balm of my own thought. angels visit me. i walk everywhere. Robert Mitchell, 1995 "for franz kline" birth and graveyard hung in balance as his hands swung across canvas demanding secrets of his doom. an antonym of macbeth, foretold the terminal terrible strokes were but bravery and death, franz kline knew before he died, he'd won, for himself and us, the miraculous unity of the land he'd found. and made us feel it had all been done while buying drinks for everyone at some impromptu nonsense in the Cedar bar. Robert Mitchell, 1995 "prayer" having spoken 'thank you', the head, lowered to let calm surround whatever truth had been submitted with the single word, is raised to find an entrance, once ignored, now outlined matte against shadow, a shy but clear invitation to visit where few have been. so it is from a dimension without name gratitude gives frame to understanding, becomes a spectral step taking us to recognition we are sacrifice ravished into beauty by the tending of a head from where it has been. thus do we change that which is within without utterance and without sin. Robert Mitchell, 2004 "night watch" the diamonds and gloves the ring embedded in wax the parchment rolled the men ready for departure, the same departure the cat seeks away from its master, the departure of iron and stone, the leaving for mountains unknown, of drums, the beat of the drums, the lock and the loading of guns, and yes, you from nowhere again, standing in half shadow to the right offering a strengh that cannot be denied a sanctuary that never existed. Robert Mitchell, 2004 "arrival" so parsimonious is the sound, so delicate the eye gazing into what it has not seen before. and then, of course, the waiting the hurried footsteps the flung open door the shout, and no more. gone without warning there. gone. no more and though we survive forever, this process will never embrace our knowing never allow us past the membrane to become one with the eternal ache that does not happen. Robert Mitchell, 2001 "outburst" going into the backroom you rummage to uncover scribbles the brain wrote to inject the neon night into a skin ready only for the growls of cellos, the grinding of silence to absolute. it is then you see the black granite, the cracking and breaking of waves, the spray lashing a face staring at sea eagles caught in the swoop of eternity shrieking over and over what, until now, had been caught in your throat. Robert Mitchell, 1989 "By The Sea" In sea eagles circling the flat sands murmur of ocean in their ears, I saw the never ending of our earth. As a white foot touches wet sand, I rememberedno swiftness in my brain can vision the time of an up coming seagull or its hovering or sea gullcrying. Robert Mitchell, 1995 "Horizon" I’m not looking at the moon those days, I can’t see that far. Across the room, i can just make out your face. I suppose that is enough: to be aware, you are still there, within speaking distance. Come to think of it, even if I saw you up in the sky, racing through the clouds, winking at me, you wouldn’t be there. For you told me you are only you and that you are allways near, never further then the width of a room or your voice in my ear. Robert Mitchell, 1995 "Apart" Though often i feel you tugging at the last strands of our bindings, seeking release, I am never away from you. Never away from those seconds when all the planets aligned to your movement and all commandments shattered as you agreed to walk in your direction for the first time. So can we try looking at the night stars and letting them run through us till they are passed and gone, not forever but for now and here, in this moment become stiller then stone stiller then any quantityor quality known alone? Robert Mitchell, 1995 "But If You Do Not Come" But if you do not come, I will not die. I will live on bewildered, and the sky will have no living, my eyes no living, the heat of my body untouched. Robert Mitchell, 1995 "I Have Shared You With Others" I have shared you with otheres, Thrown my years away upon a countless bed, my helping hand killed nightmares you have never dreamt, sat with the dead not your brothers, nor mine. A curse in me, in you, will not make us meet. A night ago, on a rotten summer street, before dawn, my feet followed your step, turned your face, clouded by this lack of grace we share, and i knew, we would still hide, despair, our blood not ready for eachothers eyes, our blood, not ready for our life, that never dies. Robert Mitchell, 1995 "prologue" In the shards of the waking morning, looking at this pen in my hand, how to write away from the phantasie of the hundred dollar bill and wish it well, godspeed, goodbuye. To forget i am here, in silence, to let entropy and rage leave, to believe, even in these shattered moments of mortality, i can still be a mete- orite for the truth of dreams, a hard reality flashing through eternal gloom to stir uneasy amid the bland assurance of our doom. Robert Mitchell "After The End" 1995 Pineapple Press New York http://www.myspace.com/mitchellrobert