PennSound podcast number 21 features a 17-minute excerpt from a one-hour-and-23-minute recording of a conversation among Greg Hewlett, Robert Creeley and Joanne Kyger in June of 1972. The whole discussion — and links to segments by topic — are available at PennSound’s Joanne Kyger page. Your host is Amaris Cuchanski. The other twenty PennSound podcasts are available here.
PennSound’s Creeley collection includes five recordings of the poet performing “I Know a Man,” as follows:
(1) read at San Francisco State University, May 20, 1956 (0:28): MP3 (2) at the Vancouver Poetry Conference, August 12, 1963 (1:27): MP3 (3) read at Harvard University, October 27, 1966 (0:35): MP3 (4) read in Bolinas, CA, July 1971 (0:26): MP3 (5) read in Bolinas, CA, c. 1965-1970 (0:25): MP3
Episode 16 of PoemTalk is a 30-minute discussion of this poem with Bob Perelman, Jessica Lowenthal, and Randall Couch.
LS: Born in 1926, Robert Creeley is the winner of a Bollingen Prize in Poetry in 1999, a Lifetime Achievement Award conferred by the Before Columbus Foundation in 2000, and a Lannan Lifetime Achievement Award in 2001. From Black Mountain to wherever we are now, Creeley remains one of our most enduring and vital poets, “vital” spelled energetic and alive. His latest book just out this fall is If I Were Writing This from New Directions. I have him on the phone from Providence, Rhode Island where he is a distinguished professor at Brown University. Welcome, Robert.
RC: Thank you, Leonard. I hope the various beeps and gurgles (from the phone line) don’t throw us off.
LS: “Beeps and Gurgles” might make a good title for a new book.
RC: Yes, “and things that go bump in the night...”
Editors’ note: Preface to Against the Silences, by Paul Blackburn, published by The Permanent Press, London and New York, 1981. Reprinted with permission from The Collected Essays of Robert Creeley, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1989. — Jacket2
I’D LIKE TO SPEAK personally of this extraordinary poet, and take that license insofar as these poems are personal, often bitterly so. I wonder if any of us have escaped the painful, self-pitying and meager defenses of person so many of them invoke. What we had hoped might be, even in inept manner worked to accomplish, has come to nothing — and whose fault is that, we ask. Certainly not mine? Having known both of these dear people, and myself, I have to feel that there will never be a human answer, never one human enough.
When Paul Blackburn died in the fall of 1971, all of his company, young and old, felt a sickening, an impact of blank, gray loss. I don’t know what we hoped for, because the cancer which killed him was already irreversibly evident — and he knew it far more literally than we. But his life had finally come to a heartfelt peace, a wife and son so dear to him, that his death seemed so bitterly ironic.
Recalling now, it seems we must have first written to one another in the late forties, at the suggestion of Ezra Pound, then in St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. We shared the same hopes for poetry, the same angers at what we considered its slack misuses. Paul was without question a far more accomplished craftsman than I and one day, hopefully, the evidence of his careful readings of the poems I sent him then will be common information.
We at PennSound are grateful to Jeff Davis for helping us make this recording available from the North Carolina Division of Archives and History, with permission from the Creeley family. The recording was made apparently in the late 1960s. It is available on PennSound's growing Robert Creeley page.
What brought you to Black Mountain? (1:17): MP3 In what capacity were you there? (2:32): MP3 What were your first impressions? (5:43): MP3 Did they subsequently change? (3:22): MP3 Who among the faculty or students impressed you? (2:17): MP3 Is it accurate to refer to a Black Mountain school of poetry? (8:44): MP3 What were BMC's particular strong and weak points? (4:55): MP3 Anything about the school's tone or procedures you wish were otherwise? (2:32): MP3 What satisfactions and tensions resulted from living at such close quarters?(5:07): MP3 What accounts for perennial faculty splits at BMC? (3:34): MP3 Did good relations exist between the college and the community? (9:40): MP3 Why did the college finally close? (1:07): MP3 How would you evaluate BMC's influence on your artistic growth? (11:16): MP3
(109:38): MP3 Among the reel-to-reel tapes in PennSound's Robert Creeley archive, we found a phone log Bob had made of a day in the life, the life being lived at the time in Placitas, New Mexico, in the late 1960s (let's call it 1968, but exact date not known as yet), where Creeley was living his wife Bobbie Louise Hawkins and their children. The log captures everyday life, that great Creeley theme, from a daughter asking permission for sleep-over to a brief conversation about an overdue phone bill to a long chat with Bob's life-long friend photographer Elsa Dorfman. In an age of email, this time capsule gives a sense of the phone conversation as both a space of intimate exchange and quotidian commerce.
The recording of this reading was segmented into thirteen poems just yesterday. Go here to see the special PennSound page devoted to this event:
When I Think (2:22): MP3 War (0:59): MP3 Talking (1:08): MP3 Paul (1:49): MP3 Old Song (0:53): MP3 Oh, do you remember (2:22): MP3 Mediterranean I (1:17): MP3 Mediterranean II (1:39): MP3 Jumping with Jackson (1:23): MP3 Shimmer (4:01): MP3 Sad Walk (1:32): MP3 The Red Flower (2:54): MP3 Old Story from The Diary of Francis Kilver (1:13): MP3
Will Creeley sent us at PennSound this great note after hearing a PoemTalk episode about one of his father's poems:
I saw word of this latest episode via PennSound's excellent & useful Twitter feed, and figured it was a good opportunity to say thank you again to Al, Charles and everyone at PennSound & Kelly Writers House for taking in our big cardboard boxes and digitizing the reel-to-reel recordings inside with such care and precision.