"Born to a wealthy family in Maine, Robinson identified himself from childhood as a poet and seemed qualified to do little else except drink, though eventually he gave that up. In the sonnet George Crabbe, Robinson composed a sort of epitaph for himself:
Whether or not we read him, we can feel
From time to time the vigor of his name
Against us like a finger for the shame
And emptiness of what our souls reveal
In books that are as altars where we kneel
To consecrate the flicker, not the flame.
Doubtless, unreconstructed Freudians will revel in Robinson’s drinking, his bachelorhood, his gloominess, his visits to brothels, even his perennial constipation. Donaldson dutifully chronicles the poet’s efforts to unseize his bowels, including his use of Swiss Kriss, his “elixir for life,” much favored by Louis Armstrong..."
Link: Edwin Arlington Robinson: A Poet's Life by Scott Donaldson - PopMatters Book Review.
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