Monday, December 15, 2008


Robert White Creeley

Bibliography:

Robert White Creeley was born in Arlington-Symmes Hospital in Arlington, Massachusetts on May 21, 1926. He was the son of Dr. Oscar Slade Creeley and nurse Genevieve Jules and a brother to one sister. When Creeley was young he lost his father and in addition to that faced difficult challenges with only having one eye, having lost the other in a car accident. Creeley was raised on a farm with his mother and sister and took on the obligations of being the man of the household. When he was fourteen he was granted a scholarship to Holderness School in Plymouth, New Hampshire. In 1943 Creeley graduated and went on to continue his education at Harvard Universty, where he made a few of his first publications in the school papers and journals. However, the young poet dropped out the following year to serve in World War One where he worked in the American Field Service driving ambulances around in Burma and India. Creeley returned home two years later and reenrolled into Harvard but instead in 1995 he took his Bachelors Degree from Black Mountain College, a school known for it’s art education and practice. After receiving his diploma he resided in Littleton, New Hampshire for a while working as a farmer on his own land. In 1951 Creeley and his wife, Ann, and their three children picked up and moved to Mallorca, an island that is associated with the Balearic Islands. Here Ann and him established Divers Press, and within three years of their business they had published over a dozen literary pieces. Throughout this time Creeley also taught at Black Mountain College and also continued to serve as a valid editor of the Black Mountain Review, as he did when he was a student. Through 1958 and 1961 the successful Creeley taught at Albuquerque Academy, an all boys school. In 1962 he went to teach at the University of New Mexico, Albuquerque, where he had gotten his masters in 1960. Through 1963 and 1986 Creeley traveled America teaching and lecturing at various universities such as: the University of New Mexico (1963-1065), State University of New York at Binghampton (1985, 1986), State University of New York at Buffalo (1967). Throughout Creeley’s life he had made several publications one of his biggest was in 1962 with his piece For Love: Poems 1950-1960. Some of his other works include: Poems 195-1965 (1965), Words (1967), Away (1976), Echoes (1982), Mirrors (1983), Memory Gardens (1986), The Company (1988), Later (1979) Myself (1977), About Women (1966), Hi There (1965), The Boy (1968), Mazatlan (1969), Two Poems (1964), Distance (1964), The Whip (1957) and If You (1956). In addition to Creeley’s poetry publications he also had published several essays and fictional short pieces like: The Island (1963), The Gold Diggers and Other Stories (1965), The Collected Prose (1988) and The Collected Essays of Robert Creeley (1989). In recogniztion to all of his works Creeley received many awards such as the Bullingen Prize (1999), the Lannon Lifetime Achievement Award (2001), the New York State Poet (1989) and the Robert Frost Medal (1987). two of the Guggenheim Fellowships and the Shelley Memorial Away.

Books:

Some of Robert Creeley's publications include:

[1] Le Fou (1952)
[2] The Immoral Proposition (1953)
[3] The Kind of Act (1953)
[4] The Gold Diggers (1954)
[5] The Gold Diggers and Other Stories (1965)
[6] A Snarling Garland of Xmas Verses (1954)
[7] All That is Lovely in Men (1955)
[8] If You (1956)
[9] The Whip (1957)
[10] A Form of Women (1960)
[11] For Love: Poems 1950-1960 (1962)
[12] The Island (1964)
[13] Words (1967)
[14] Poems 1950-1065 (1966)
[15] The Charm: Early and Uncollected Poems (1971)
[16] Robert Creeley Reads (1967)
[17] A Sigh (1967)
[18] Divisions and Other Early Poems (1968)
[19] The Finger (1970)
[20] 5 Numbers (1968)
[21] Pieces (1969)
[22] Mazatian (1969)
[23] In London (1970)
[24] A Quick Graph: Collected Notes and Essays (1970)
[25] 1234567890 (1971)
[26] St. Martin’s (1971)
[27] A Day Book (1972)
[28]Listen (1972)
[29] For My Mother: Genevieve Jules Creeley 8 April 1887-7 October 1972 (1973)
[30] His Idea (1973)
[31] Inside Out (1973)
[32] Thirty Things (1974)
[33] Backwards (1975)
[34] The Door (1975)
[35] Away (1976)
[36] Hello (1976)
[37] Presences: a Text for Marisol (1976)
[38] Mabel: A Story (1977)
[39] Thanks (1977)
[40] Later: A poem (1978)
[41] Later (1980)
[42] Echoes (1982)
[43] A Calendar 1984 (1983)
[44] Mirrors (1983)
[45] The Collected Prose of Robert Creeley (1988)
[46] Window (1988)
[47] The Company (1988)
[48] The Collected Essays of Robert Creeley (1988)
[49] Dreams (1989)
[50] Places (1990)
[51] Windows (1990)
[52] The Old Days (1991)
[53] Selected Poems (1991)
[54] Life and Death (1993)
[55] Loops: Ten Poems (1991)

Mood:

A Feeling of Love: A great number of Creeley’s poetry express this feeling of love. A love that is simple and pure, not complicated and unknown. Take for example two stanzas that come from Creeley’s poem “The Rain”, “Love, if you love me,\ lie next to me.\ Be for me, like rain,\ the getting out\ of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-\ lust of intentional indifference.\ Be wet/ with a decent happiness” (KLEINZAHLER, New York Times). Here he speaks to his lover and tells her to be like rain, something so authentic and natural. Most of Creeley’s poems address these matters of love. his poems are very personal and are his devoted emotions to his friends and family. Critic Louis L. Martz explains Creeley’s poem The Finger” as a deep apprehension of love he goes further to say, “Here [in the poem] the finger turns out to be the mind reaching out from ‘that time [when] I was a stranger’ toward the apprehension of woman as an abstraction of all the ancient mythological qualities named Aphrodite or Athena; not a woman, then, but rather the varied presence of woman-ness” (Arbor, 241). This thought that is presented to the audience if rather big and deep but those are Creeley’s poems for you. The idea a woman is so extraordinary is presented in the poem “The Finger” in the following lines, “She was tall with\ extraordinary grace. Her face\ was al distance, her eyes\ the depth of all one had though of,\ again and again and again.”

A Feeling of Isolation and Fear: Even though Creeley’s poems discuss these feelings of adulation and passion towards particular people he still wraps his thoughts and imagery around this inkling of mere fear of isolation. One particular poem that exemplifies this notion is in his poem “Language”.


Locate I

love you some-

where in

teeth and

eyes, bite

it but



take care not

to hurt, you

want so



much so

little. Words

say everything.



I

love you

again,



then what

is emptiness

for. To

This excerpt from the poem “Language” goes far to say that Creeley’s thoughts are bound up by images and feelings of isolation and seclusion. Here knows that there is someone out there for him but he can not find her and only at this point in time he feels alone.

One other poem that does a good job demonstrating Creeley’s thoughts of alienation is in the poem “Somebody Died”. The following stanzas demonstrate a figure whose mere being is to be alone and whose passing image just appears to be nothing more but a passing person:

What Shall we know we don’t know,
that we know we know we don’t know.


The head walks
down the
street with
an umbrella.

People
were walking
by.


The image that Creeley creates in this poem is remarkable. It is such a simple creation, nothing too extravagant yet manages to convey his feelings of despair. One other poem that does a good job in doing this is “The Act of Love.” His words again are very simple. He does not elongate his ideas or his thoughts, he is very straightforward in his writings.

In

bed I yearn
for softness, turning
always to you. Don’t,

one wants to cry,
desert me! Have I
studied

all such isolation
just to
be alone?

MOVEMENTS:

Robert Creeley along with all his other fellow writers were part of the “Projective Verse Movement”. The idea in the movement was to replace the traditional poetry that was being written at the time. Charles Olson, a distinguishable American poet, labeled this type of poetry and also gave it other names such as “Open Composition” or “Composition by Field”. The idea behind Olson’s term was to allow more relaxation and freedom within writing. And his idea later became an inspiration for all following poets. However, in addition to this small movement Creeley became a influential poet in the American Poets.

SIMILAR ARTISTS:

Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Allen Ginsbery, John Wieners, Denise Leverton, Lary Eigner and Edward Dorn.

INFLUENCE BY:

The distinguishable poet was influenced by partner Charles Olson, another American Poet who took part in the same movement. Creeley looked up to him when he was just starting and eventually formulated a bond with him and eventually had the opportunity to work with him in his writings.


FOLLOWERS:

Robert Creeley was one of the most influential poets of his time and he had a great impact on the future of poetry. He was not afraid to be different and took the chance to be and in return changed the world of poetry. his poetry shaped the minds of the group of poets in the New Critics and this included artists like F.R Leavis, William Empson, Robert Penn Warren, John Crowe Ransom, Cleathe Brooks, T.S Eliot and R.P Blackmur.

WORKS CITED



Creeley, Robert W. So There. New York City, NY: New Directions Company, 1998.
Faas, Ekbert. Robert Creeley: A Biography. Montreal , Canada: McGill Queen's UP, 2001.

http://wings.buffalo.edu/epc/authors/creeley/bib.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/24/books/review/Kleinzahler-t.html?ei=5088&en=c4d04c3bbcfe48ab&ex=1361509200&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss&pagewanted=print

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Critics

http://project1.caryacademy.org/echoes/03-04/Robert_Creeley/defaultcreeley.htm

http://www.diacenter.org/prg/poetry/87_88/creeleybio.html

http://www.poltroonpress.com/creeley.html

http://www.lib.uconn.edu/online/research/speclib/ASC/findaids/Creeley/MSS19780008.html#d0e56

http://www.albany.edu/writers-inst/webpages4/archives/creeley.html

http://www.lib.uconn.edu/online/research/speclib/ASC/findaids/Creeley/MSS19780008.htm
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Monday, November 17, 2008

Walking Out

Frozen cold
She stood there on the mat
Her jaw tightening
Her throat closing
The tears where pushing through.

She took a bow and walked away
The judges said it all
with A NINE, A SIX and A SEVEN.
Maggie was good,
but not good enough.

Certain she was not qualified,
Not talented enough to move on.
With that, Maggie walked out
Out of the gymnasium
And out on her dreams.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Story Continued...

One afternoon Wes was in the yard pulling weeds when Chef drove up in front of the house. It was around three o’clock and it was a little to early for him to be returning home from work. 

“Everything O.K?” Screamed Wes from across the yard, “you are home a little early!”

“Yea. Yea. Everything is o.k. Just thought I would take the rest of the day off.”

“Is that so,” I said chiming into the conversation.

“Yea. I think I am going to head up to visit my sister for the weekend. You guys be o.k here by yourselves?” he asked. Wes and I stared at each other from across the yard and with a smile he turned to Chef and said, “We will be just fine.”

It had not been an hour until Chef was back in his car and making his way up north. I knelt down next to the garden bed I had been working on for the entire day and simply continued my work. The hot summer sun was beating down on my back and I could feel it frying my skin. Overwhelmed and exhausted I slowly stood up and looked over at Wes who was diligently constructing his water-fountain for Chef. “I am going to head inside and start making dinner. Get out of this heat.”

“Why don’t you just go upstairs cool, off and take a shower,” he said to me as he stood up and admired his accomplishments thus far. “Don’t worry about cooking tonight, I will get it.” Smiling, I nodded and turned around and made my way inside. I went to the kitchen sink and washed my hands clean and than prepared my bubble bath in the back room.

An hour had passed as I sat there enjoying my solitude. The hot water had me feeling faint and the lavender smell of the bubbles had begun to make me nauseous. Feeling as though it was time to get out and enjoy my time with Wes, I head a knock on the door. Quickly wrapping my towel around me, “Who is it?”

“It’s Wes hun, I just wanted to see if you would be ready in like ten minutes for dinner?”

Surprised, I said, “yes,” and than quickly made my way to my room to get ready. Pulling out my best clothes from the closet and throwing them on I than braided my hair and threw it back into a loose pony. Grabbing my make-up bag I plastered some bronzer on and diligently did my eyes, making them POP. Misting myself down with the new perfume Wes had gave me I looked in the mirror one last time and made my way downstairs, where Wes had been waiting.

He stood nervously in the corner of the dining room. The lights were dimmed and the candles flickered, casting shadows across the room. The smell of Italy lingered in the air. “Please sit,” he said escorting me to the side chair that he than pulled out.

“Thank you,” I said looking up at it, “Thank you for everything. It is all so beautiful.” The table was set for two. Four candles lined the surface and fresh flowers from the garden stood as the center piece. It was just breath taking. Wes nodded and headed back into the kitchen where he turned the music down low. A few minutes later he brought back a huge bowl of speghti and a tray of garlic bread. He set them on the table and then reached for my napkin and put in on my lap. Handing me the spoons he said, “dig in before it gets cold.”

Hungry I threw some meatballs and speghetti on my plate and began eating. Wes and I did not talk to much, we kind of just looked at one another nervously- uncertain as to where or what we were to do after dinner. Eventually I found myself with a bottle of wine by myside resting in his lap on the front porch.

“Beautiful night,”

“it is,” I said. The cool summer breeze sent chills down my spine and I reached behind for the blanket which was folded over the swing. Wes took it from me and gently covered me.

“I told you I am doing better,” he finally said.

“You are,” I said turning my head back to look him in the eyes. He squeezed me hard and held me there for a few seconds.

“I messed up hun, I know I did. I lost everything I had, and now that I have the one most important thing back in my life, I promise you, you will never see that old Wes again.”

Certain and believing in his words I took his hand that was sitting in my lap and brought it up to my face and kissed it. “I love you,” I said.

“ I love you too. I am sorry,” He said back.

“It is ok, let’s just put it in our past and move forward to fixing it from here out,” I said.

“Sounds good,” he said bending forward pressing his lips to my forehead. “I love you.”

I smiled and slowly picked up my blanket and walked inside. Before closing the door, I turned around and said, “I love you too. I am sorry it is just cold out. Want to go upstairs?”

Surprised he jumped up and quickly ran in snatching me as he ran by and shutting the door behind him. “Of course,” he breathed out, running up the stairs with me over shis shoulders. Laughing he threw me on the bed and started tickling me. I pushed him away for a second and took a breath. Everything was perfect. I had made no regrets of leaving everything behind for this one chance that Wes might change. And he did, and I saw it in his eyes that this was how it was going to be forever.

Poetry is and is Not

[1] Poetry can be simple. And it can also be complicated.
[2] Poetry is a method of expression.
[3] Poetry has no boundaries.
[4] Poetry has no rules, no roads just guidelines
[5] Poetry can redefine a meaning and it can also just define a meaning
[7] Poetry can be the backbone to English or it can just be another flower in it's garden.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

One More Bone


She sat on her bed,
her head inflamed. 
A little black dress
and some left over cocaine.

Her world was spinning
and the walls were cracked.
The drugs were winning 
and the strength she lacked.

Her hands were shaking
and she began to sweat.
The room was moving
and she did not fret.


She knew she was safe,
she knew it would be fine.
She just needed more
so she did another line


Her eyes were twitching
her nose began to burn
still craving that shit
she did a little more
bent over, and fell to the floor.






above image was found at: www.desiretoinsprice.blogspot.com/2007_03_25_archives.com

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Her Name Was Autumn

Naked she stands
bare to the bone.
Cold and empty
As if shaken to death.
The color and life that once lived
has gone.
And all she had rests below her.

Her Name is Autumn


Full of life she dances
She dances in the wind.
Swaying back and fourth,
to the clapping of the wind.