Robert Creeley
Robert Creeley
Robert Creeleywas 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...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth21 May 1926
CountryUnited States of America
Robert Creeley quotes about
I know this body is impatient. I know I constitute only a meager voice and mind. Yet I loved, I love. I want no sentimentality. I want no more than home.
As I get older, I recognize that my thinking about poetry may or may not have anything actively to do with my actual work as a poet. This strikes me as no thing cynically awry but rather seems again instance of that hapless or possibly happy fact, we do not as humans seem necessarily aware of what we are physically or psychically doing at all!
Communication is mutual feeling with someone, not a didactic process of information.
Writing is the same as music. It’s in how you phrase it, how you hold back the note, bend it, shape it, then release it. And what you don’t play is as important as what you do say.
For love - I would split open your head and put a candle in behind the eyes.
I heard words and words full of holes aching.
What has happened makes the world. Live on the edge, looking.
It is hard going to the door cut so small in the wall where the vision which echoes loneliness brings a scent of wild flowers in the wood.
My wife and I lived all alone, contention was our only bone. I fought with her, she fought with me, and things went on right merrily. But now I live here by myself with hardly a damn thing on the shelf, and pass my days with little cheer since I have parted from my dear.
I will go to the garden. I will be a romantic. I will sell myself in hell, in heaven also I will be.
God give you pardon from gratitude and other mild forms of servitude.
I don’t think any man writing can worry about what the act of writing costs him, even though at times he is very aware of it.
Hopefully, I write what I don't know.
I did however used to think, you know, in the woods walking, and as a kid playing the the woods, that there was a kind of immanence there - that woods, a places of that order, had a sense, a kind of presence, that you could feel; that there was something peculiarly, physically present, a feeling of place almost conscious ... like God. It evoked that.