Robert Creeley profile picture

Robert Creeley

For Love

About Me

Robert Creeley (May 21, 1926 - March 30, 2005) was an American poet, author of more than sixty books, and usually associated with the Black Mountain poets, though his verse aesthetic diverged from that school's. He was quite friendly with Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Allen Ginsberg, John Wieners and Ed Dorn. He taught for many years at the University at Buffalo. He 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, and was much beloved as a generous presence in many poets' lives.

Creeley was born in Arlington, Massachusetts and grew up in Acton, Massachusetts. He was raised by his mother with four sisters, and lost his left eye at the age of four. He entered Harvard University in 1943, but left to serve in the American Field Service in Burma and India 1944-5. He returned to Harvard in 1946, but took his BA from Black Mountain College in 1955. When Black Mountain briefly closed, Creeley moved to San Francisco, where he met Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, and befriended Jackson Pollock.

He was a chicken farmer briefly before he became a teacher.

An MA from the University of New Mexico followed in 1960. He began his academic career by teaching at Albuquerque Academy starting in around 1958 until about 1960 or 1961. This was followed by two semesters at Black Mountain. Afterwards he wandered about a bit before settling into the English faculty of "Black Mountain II" at the University at Buffalo in 1967. He would stay at this post until 2003, when he received a post at Brown University. At the time of his death, he was in residence with the Lannan Foundation in Marfa, Texas.

He first received fame in 1962 from his poetry collection For Love. He would go on to win the Bollingen Prize, among others, and was the New York Poet Laureate from 1989-1991.

In his later years he was an advocate of, and a mentor to, many younger poets, as well as to others outside of the poetry world. He went to great lengths to be supportive to many and he had great sympathy for 'ordinary' people. Responding seemed to be essential to his personal ethics, and he seemed to take this responsibility extremely seriously, in both his life and his craft. In his later years, when he became well-known, he would go to lengths to make strangers, who approached him as a well-known author, feel comfortable. In his last years he used the Internet to keep in touch with many younger poets and friends. He was rather shy, somewhat cautious, but he was not at all afraid; he would stand up in situations where many others would not.

Robert Creeley died at sunrise on March 30th, 2005, in Odessa, Texas of complications from pneumonia. His death resulted in an outpouring of grief and appreciation from many in the poetry world. He is buried in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

He was scheduled to visit Albuquerque Academy, where he held a teaching post, 10 days after the day he died to help celebrate their 50th anniversary.

My Interests

Books:

Robert Creeley has published more than sixty books of poetry in the United States and abroad, including Life Death (New Directions, 1998); Echoes (1994); Selected Poems 1945-1990 (1991); Memory Gardens (1986); Mirrors (1983); The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1945-1975 (1982); Later (1979); The Finger (1968); and For Love: Poems 1950-1960 (1962). He has also published The Island (novel, 1963), The Gold Diggers and Other Stories (1965), and more than a dozen books of prose, essays, and interviews. He has also edited such books as Charles Olson's Selected Poems (1993), The Essential Burns (1989), and Whitman: Selected Poems (1973).

My Blog

Dover Beach (Again)

The waves keep at it,Arnold's Aegean Sophocles heard,the swell and ebb,the cresting and the falling under,each one particular and the sameEach day a reminder, each sun in its world, each face,each wo...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:21:00 PST

THE LANGUAGE

Locate Ilove you some-where inteeth andeyes, biteit buttake care notto hurt, youwant somuch solittle. Wordssay everything.Ilove youagain,then whatis emptinessfor. Tofill, fill.I heard wordsand words f...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:11:00 PST

Still Life Or

mobiles: that the wind can catch at,against itself, a leaf or a contrivance of wires,in the stairwell,to be looked at from below.We have arranged the form of a fo...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:09:00 PST

Something

I approach with sucha careful tremor, alwaysI feel the finally foolishquestion of how it is,then, supposed to be felt,and by whom. I rememberonce in a rented room on27th street, the woman I lovedthen,...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:33:00 PST

The Conspiracy

You send me your poems,I'll send you mine.Things tend to awakeneven through random communicationLet us suddenlyproclaim spring. And jeerat the others,all the others.I will send a picture tooif you wil...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:30:00 PST

The Warning

For love-I wouldsplit open your head and puta candle inbehind the eyes.Love is dead in usif we forgetthe virtues of an amuletand quick surprise.Robert Creeley...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:25:00 PST

America

America, you ode for reality!Give back the people you took.Let the sun shine againon the four corners of the worldyou thought of first but do notown, or keep like a convenience.People are your own wor...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:21:00 PST

A Song

I had wanted a quiet testamentand I had wanted, among other things,a song.That was to beof a like monotony.(A graceSimply. Very very quiet.A murmur of some lostthrush, though I have never seen one....
Posted by Robert Creeley on Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:18:00 PST

Goodbye

Now I recognize it was always me like a camera set to expose itself to a picture or a pipe through which the water might run ...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Mon, 14 Aug 2006 10:19:00 PST

The Mirror

Seeing is believing. Whatever was thought or said, these persistent, inexorable deaths make faith as such absent, our humanness a question, a disgust ...
Posted by Robert Creeley on Mon, 14 Aug 2006 10:19:00 PST