I will take the corrective that slamming Creeley for lameness of metre and rhyme, as I do a few posts down, is a category error. Creeley writing thus is not to my taste, and that's the distinction to make. I shouldn't confound my taste with his intentions. there is, however, a category of clumsiness that engulfs all writers, in their youthful determination of their own boundaries. and among the postmodern (how did I get accredited to use such a term anyway?), you see plenty of early tilting with formal poetry, only to drop that for other comforts. admittedly I have dallied writing-wise only in the slightest way with metre and rhyme, tho I do not object to reading such. I read Creeley's early work and feel uncomfortable with his experiments. with the trippy coherence of Pieces, I thought he found himself. I first read For Love 30+ years ago (like my father, I am 93) and I found the poems in it to be dated. honest! I actually scribbled over "Ballad of the Despairing Husband". stupid as I am, I recognize resistance when I see it. but I don't know how to rescue that poem into my pleasure or respect. I think RC was still writing discrete units of work, whereas in Pieces, the process was more commanding, thereby tying one to another. I'm defending myself here, while accepting intelligent criticism. such juggling! I look up to see a bright silver moon.