I lived from 1869-1935.
I influenced poet Robert Frost.
His family moved to Gardiner, Maine, in 1870, which was renamed "Tilbury Town" as it became the backdrop for many of Robinson's poems. Robinson described his childhood as stark and unhappy; he once wrote in a letter to Amy Lowell that he remembered wondering why he had been born at the age of six. After high school, Robinson spent two years studying at Harvard University as a special student and his first poems were published in the Harvard Advocate.
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Robinson privately printed and released his first volume of poetry, The Torrent and the Night Before, in 1896 at his own expense; this collection was extensively revised and published in 1897 as The Children of the Night. Unable to make a living by writing, he got a job as an inspector for the New York City subway system.
In 1902 he published Captain Craig and Other Poems. This work received little attention until President Theodore Roosevelt wrote a magazine article praising it and Robinson. Roosevelt also offered Robinson a sinecure in a U.S. Customs House, a job he held from 1905 to 1910. Robinson dedicated his next work, The Town Down the River (1910), to Roosevelt.
Robinson's first major success was The Man Against the Sky (1916). He also composed a trilogy based on Arthurian legends: Merlin (1917), Lancelot (1920), and Tristram (1927), which won a Pulitzer Prize in 1928. Robinson was also awarded a Pulitzer Prize for his Collected Poems (1921) in 1922 and The Man Who Died Twice (1924) in 1925. For the last twenty-five years of his life, Robinson spent his summers at the MacDowell Colony of artists and musicians in Peterborough, New Hampshire. Robinson never married and led a notoriously solitary lifestyle. He died in New York City on April 6, 1935.
Popular poetry
WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
18 lines, 11 comments
[OR THE CONTENTED METAPHYSICIAN]
TO the lore of no manner of men
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Once, when I wandered in the woods alone,
An old man tottered up to me and said,
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I cannot find my way: there is no star
In all the shrouded heavens anywhere;
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When these graven lines you see,
Traveller, do not pity me;
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She fears him, and will always ask
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The master-songs are ended, and the man
That sang them is a name. And so is God
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Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed&nbs
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Between me and the sunset, like a dome
Against the glory of a world on fire,
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Up the old hill to the old house again
Where fifty years ago the friend was young
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