Raymond Carver: "Rain"

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.



"Rain" by Raymond Carver. Text as published in All of Us: The Collected Poems (Vintage, 1996).

Art credit: "Raindrops on the windowpane," photograph by Louis Gill. From the caption: "I woke this morning to the glittering sight of raindrops on the bedroom window pane backlit by the early morning sun."

Raymond Carver: "Late Fragment"

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.










"Late Fragment" by Raymond Carver, from A New Path to the Waterfall. © Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989.

Curator's note: This is the final poem in Carver's last published work, a collection written when he was dying of cancer.

Art credit: "Wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin," photograph by unknown photographer (originally black and white).

 

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.

"The Cobweb" by Raymond Carver, from Ultramarine. © Random House, 1986.

Art credit: "Spider web painting with spray paint," by witchee1014 (originally black and white).

 

Raymond Carver: "Happiness"

So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

"Happiness" by Raymond Carver, from All of Us: The Collected Poems. © Vintage Press, 2000.

Image credit: Detail from "Afternoon or morning sunlight pours in shuttered windows onto man lost in thought drinking coffee," video clip contributed by JHDT Stock Images LLC (originally color).

 

Raymond Carver: "At Least"

I want to get up early one more morning,
before sunrise. Before the birds, even.
I want to throw cold water on my face
and be at my work table
when the sky lightens and smoke
begins to rise from the chimneys
of the other houses.
I want to see the waves break
on this rocky beach, not just hear them
break as I did all night in my sleep.
I want to see again the ships
that pass through the strait from every
seafaring country in the world–––
old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,
and the swift new cargo vessels
painted every color under the sun
that cut the water as they pass.
I want to keep an eye out for them.
And for the little boat that plies
the water between the ships
and the pilot station near the lighthouse.
I want to see them take a man off the ship
and put another up on board.
I want to spend the day watching this happen
and reach my own conclusions.
I hate to seem greedy–––I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what's going to happen.

"At Least" by Raymond Carver, from Where Water Comes Together with Other Water. © Vintage Books, 1986.

Photograph: "Wave Crashing Portland Maine Lighthouse," by Captain Kimo (originally color).