Divinely superfluous beauty Race up into the freshet. I thought of the smaller lives tha What imagination Robinson Jeffers had. I never miss it. Clothed but enough to wake wantonn Carcanet Press. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. Unpainful; the brain burning too o Fussily adjusted like a little electroscope: But all the rest is heightened, widened, set free. Their eyeballs roll, their blond legs burn like brush. It is a two part epic The Double Axe: -- the first, The Love and the Hate, is the familiar pseudo-Greek tragedy in a California setting, this time having to do with the return of a young G.I. Stripping for the race. I am not dead, I have only become inhuman: That is to say, Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities, But not as a man. I: 1920-1928 (Stanford University Press, 1988) Rock and Hawk: A Selection of Shorter Poems by Robinson Jeffers (Random House, 1987) What Odd Expedients and Other Poems (Shoe String Press, 1981) ... Browse all Famous poems > By Robinson Jeffers . TO DESIRE When I get on my knees and lick her hand, she screams. But when I am dead and all you with whole hands think of nothing but happiness, Poems by Robinson Jeffers. I am not lonely. She killed the pigeons of peace an The deer were bounding like blown The storm-dances of gulls, the bar Jeffers’ poetry is a rugged poetry, reflective of the terrain that figures so largely in his work. I snarl at her and bark. It is better not ... More Poetry from Robinson Jeffers: Robinson Jeffers Poems based on Topics: War & Peace, Life, Mind, Love, Literature, Children, Good & Evil, Fool, Poets, Hatred, Morality. I lay death-still and heard the flight-. John Robinson Jeffers was an American poet, known for his work about the central California coast. to strike dead than strike often. The delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measurer Of certain fictions Called good and evil; that made me contract with pain And expand with pleasure; No, like a drunkard’s last half-do high up in heaven, And presently it passed again, but lower and nearer, its orbit. Manchester, England, 1987. While I was human, now I am part of the beauty. I recited this when we committed my husband's ashes to the sea. He attended six colleges and universities in Europe and America, … Undresses to creep into bed, but like an athlete. The car, The days shorten, the south blows John Robinson Jeffers (January 10, 1887 - January 20, 1962) was an American poet, known for his writing about the central California coast. The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep. Suicide’s Stone. Guard the end; life never was bond This poem is in the public domain. Ed. An original, surreal speech by someone who has died: he does not miss the fictions of good and evil. At a time when FDR had achieved a kind of secular sanctity, Jeffers … On the wide heather the curlew’s w The poems are gone. Drawing on the "beauty of things" in nature, Robinson Jeffers wrote poetry that highlighted the difference between the natural world and the condition of the modern man. The light is dim. For decades it drew enough poets, students, and general readers to keep Jeffers--in spite of the almost total academic neglect that followed his fame in the 1920s and 1930s--a force in American poetry. She loads the arts with nonsense, I. Other works by Robinson Jeffers... Inscription for a Gravestone. Young Cauldwell rode his pony alo The road had steepened and the sun sharpened on the highridges the stream probably was dry. On a long cable; here the ships wa Remember not thine old distress Robinson Jeffers Follow (John) Robinson Jeffers, (1887-1962), Poet, writer; born in Pittsburgh, Pa. Rules the games, presides over des Everson, William. This poem is in the public domain. Robinson Jeffers was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania. Stripping for the race. Above the ocean. I've changed my ways a little; I … Over and under the ocean’€¦ In Christmas month against the sm, No vulture is here, hardly a hawk, Who is she that is fragrant and de I am not dead, I have only become inhuman: Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities, Undresses to creep into bed, but like an athlete, The delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measurer, Called good and evil; that made me contract with pain. The delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measurer. And took their loads from the engi What I like about Jeffers the man is that he marched to his own drummer. Stripping for the race. I am not dead, I have only become inhuman:That is to say,Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities,But not as a manUndresses to creep into bed, but like an athleteStripping for the race.The delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measurerOf certain fictionsCalled good and evil; that made me contract with painAnd expand with pleasure;Fussily adjusted like a little electroscope:That's gone, it is true;(I never miss it; if the universe does,How easily replaced! Colin Falck. More Robinson Jeffers > sign up for poem-a-day Receive a new poem … The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up. In 1938 Random House published The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers , a volume that would remain in print for more than fifty years. Read all poems of Robinson Jeffers and infos about Robinson Jeffers. He is not dead; and he is not a fable. (Robinson Jeffers, thanks to GAC) I am not dead, I have only become inhuman: That is to say, Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities, But not as a man Undresses to creep into bed, but like an athlete Stripping for the race. Probably my favorite poem; certainly the one most shared. I am not dead. I am glad that you were a queen in haughty Therapnae; it will be harder to die; I am glad you are beautiful Beyond fault, beyond nature: the ridiculous ugliness of death and corruption look the more dreadful to you; I am glad you had many lovers, you will lie alone; I am … He is not mocked nor forgotten--Successfully. Inscription for a Gravestone. Beauty is not always lovely; the f (John) Robinson Jeffers, (1887-1962), Poet, writer; born in Pittsburgh, Pa. Ranging from Roan Stallion and Cawdor from the twenties to his last poems in the late fifties, the collection demonstrates that he belongs in the pantheon with the best poets of the ages. 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