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.