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Robert Creeley

Robert Creeley

re-read _Pieces_ last night and it moved me greatly. There's so much packed into the book. Philosophical meditation on the "I" and death and the world body. This book really enacts the old "form is never more than an extension of content." Multiple poems per page. A great range of diction. Some distinct Creeley uses of the line and some long "prose" lines. This book really does it all. The fragment/whole, I/we, the ethics of metaphor. So so much.

I haven't read much of Creeley's later work (I am especially interested in Life and Death and As If I Were Writing This).

What a life.

Goodbye Mr. Creeley. Godspeed.

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Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…