Tag Archives: robinson jeffers

last poem by Jeffers’ i’ll post in a while, i promise

i found this while surfing the web. i hadn’t read it before. it reminded me of another line of his that went something like this: “men injured / like little hurt birds.” (its a quote from memory, so don’t quote my quote.)

i really hope all the Jeffers’ doesn’t make you sick. i like him because he’s like the anti-modernist, not that i dislike modernism, just that i’ve read entirely too much of it for one person to have good mental hygiene. this at least gives me something else to say i’ve read besides british closet homosexuals, or american lesbians so scary dr. frankfurter cringes when he sees them kiss.

HURT HAWKS.

missed Jeffers’ poem

a while back, i posted a link to my selections from the selected poetry of robinson jeffers. turns out i missed one: TRAGEDY HAS OBLIGATIONS.

My Selections from The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers

I have recently read the entirety of this selection. My selections do not include his longer, epic, narrative poems. Of his longer poems, I only found “The Loving Shepherdess” to be exquisite in its entirety. (I do warn you: it is quite a long poem.)

I eventually would like to do short readings of each of these poems, but that may not be for a little while.

So, with no further delays: my selections from the selected poetry of Robinson Jeffers.

another poem (not mine)

THE HOUSE-DOG’S GRAVE
(Haig, an English bulldog)

by Robinson Jeffers

I’ve changed my ways a little: I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream: and you, if you dream a moment,
You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you’d soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Not at the foot of your bed: no, all the nights through
I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read – and I fear often grieving for me –
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long it is hard
To think of you ever dying.
A little dog would get tired living so long.
I hope that when you are lying

Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.
No, dears, that’s too much hope: you are not so well cared for
As I have been,

And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided. …
But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.