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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535754" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Relating To Robinson</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Somewhere in Chelsea, early summer; <br>And, walking in the twilight toward the docks, <br>I thought I made out Robinson ahead of me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>From an uncurtained second-story room, a radio <br>Was playing There’s a Small Hotel; a kite <br>Twisted above dark rooftops and slow drifting birds. <br>We were alone there, he and I, <br>Inhabiting the empty street. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Under a sign for Natural Bloom Cigars, <br>While lights clicked softly in the dusk from red to green, <br>He stopped and gazed into a window <br>Where a plaster Venus, modeling a truss, <br>Looked out at Eastbound traffic. (But Robinson, <br>I knew, was out of town: he summers at a place in Maine, <br>Sometimes on Fire Island, sometimes the Cape, <br>Leaves town in June and comes back after Labor Day.) <br>And yet, I almost called out, “Robinson!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>There was no chance. Just as I passed, <br>Turning my head to search his face, <br>His own head turned with mine <br>And fixed me with dilated, terrifying eyes <br>That stopped my blood. His voice <br>Came at me like an echo in the dark. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“I thought I saw the whirlpool opening. <br>Kicked all night at a bolted door. <br>You must have followed me from Astor Place. <br>An empty paper floats down at the last. <br>And then a day as huge as yesterday in pairs <br>Unrolled its horror on my face <br>Until it blocked—” Running in sweat <br>To reach the docks, I turned back <br>For a second glance. I had no certainty, <br>There in the dark, that it was Robinson <br>Or someone else. <br>The block was bare. The Venus, <br>Bathed in blue fluorescent light, <br>Stared toward the river. As I hurried West, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The lights across the bay were coming on. <br>The boats moved silently and the low whistles blew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Weldon+Kees">Weldon Kees</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535754" data-title="Relating To Robinson de Weldon Kees" data-description="Somewhere in Chelsea, early summer; 
And, walking in the twilight toward the docks, 
I thought I made out Robinson ahead of me. 


From an uncurtained second-story room, a radio 
Was playing There’s a Small Hotel; a kite 
Twisted above dark roof..."></div>
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