Biography of Robert Creeley
Robert Creeley (May 21, 1926 – March 30, 2005) was an American poet and author of more than sixty books. He is usually associated with the Black Mountain poets, though his verse aesthetic diverged from that school's. He was close with Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Allen Ginsberg, John Wieners and Ed Dorn. He served as the Samuel P. Capen Professor of Poetry and the Humanities at State University of New York at Buffalo. In 1991, he joined colleagues Susan Howe, Charles Bernstein, Raymond Federman, Robert Bertholf, and Dennis Tedlock in founding the Poetics Program at Buffalo. Creeley lived in Waldoboro, Maine, Buffalo, New York, and Providence, Rhode Island where he taught at Brown University. He was a recipient of the Lannan Foundation Lifetime Achievement Award.
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Robert Creeley Poems
All night the sound had come back again, and again falls this quite, persistent rain.
A Form Of Women
I have come far enough from where I was not before to have seen the things looking in at me from through the open door
Seeing is believing. Whatever was thought or said, these persistent, inexorable deaths
I Know A Man
As I sd to my friend, because I am always talking,--John, I
America, you ode for reality! Give back the people you took. Let the sun shine again
for Mark Peters Not just nothing, Not there's no answer,
I approach with such a careful tremor, always I feel the finally foolish
You send me your poems, I'll send you mine. Things tend to awaken
The words are a beautiful music. The words bounce like in water. Water music,
Whereas the man who hits the gong dis- proves it, in all its simplicity --
Looking to the sea, it is a line of unbroken mountains. It is the sky.
For love-I would split open your head and put a candle in behind the eyes.
My love's manners in bed are not to be discussed by me, as mine by her I would not credit comment upon gracefully.
What, younger, felt was possible, now knows is not - but still not changed enough -
For love-I would
split open your head and put
a candle in
behind the eyes.
Love is dead in us
if we forget
the virtues of an amulet
and quick surprise.