Robinson Jeffers

(10 January 1887 – 20 January 1962 / Allegheny, Pennsylvania)

Robinson Jeffers Poems

121. Return 1/13/2003
122. To The Stone-Cutters 1/13/2003
123. July Fourth By The Ocean 1/13/2003
124. Contrast 1/13/2003
125. Inscription For A Gravestone 4/12/2010
126. Ave Caesar 1/13/2003
127. Rock And Hawk 1/13/2003
128. The Deer Lay Down Their Bones 1/13/2003
129. The Epic Stars 1/13/2003
130. Love The Wild Swan 1/13/2003
131. Contemplation Of The Sword 1/13/2003
132. Ascent To The Sierras 1/13/2003
133. The Purse-Seine 1/13/2003
134. The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean 1/13/2003
135. Carmel Point 1/13/2003
136. Shine, Perishing Republic 1/13/2003
137. The Answer 1/13/2003
138. Fire On The Hills 1/13/2003
139. Be Angry At The Sun 1/13/2003
140. Hurt Hawks 1/13/2003
141. Vulture 1/13/2003

Comments about Robinson Jeffers

  • Anthony White (9/12/2011 1:23:00 PM)

    In a strange way, his lack of popularity is probably a testimony to his insight; people are shy of hearing what disagrees with the common view. His ability to look beyond the tepid matters of today reminds me of the work of David Jones, someone else maturing gently in obscurity.

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  • Yacov Mitchenko (7/19/2010 11:53:00 PM)

    Robinson Jeffers is a criminally underrated poet, easily the equal of Eliot and Frost (and in my view a better poet than either) . 'Hurt Hawks' and 'Vulture' are among the best animals poems I have read in the language. He's a formidable epic poet, and is generally more successful than the other major English poets at long narratives.

Best Poem of Robinson Jeffers


I had walked since dawn and lay down to rest on a bare hillside
Above the ocean. I saw through half-shut eyelids a vulture wheeling
high up in heaven,
And presently it passed again, but lower and nearer, its orbit
I understood then
That I was under inspection. I lay death-still and heard the flight-
Whistle above me and make their circle and come nearer.
I could see the naked red head between the great wings
Bear downward staring. I said, 'My dear bird, we are wasting time
These old bones will still work; ...

Read the full of Vulture


Civilized, crying: how to be human again; this will tell you how.
Turn outward, love things, not men, turn right away from humanity,
Let that doll lie. Consider if you like how the lilies grow,
Lean on the silent rock until you feel its divinity
Make your veins cold; look at the silent stars, let your eyes
Climb the great ladder out of the pit of yourself and man.
Things are so beautiful, your love will follow your eyes;
Things are the God; you will love God and not in vain,
For what we

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