A poet is a tightrope walker in the circus of ideas
The literary world has lost an icon. Poet, teacher and friend to so many, Robert Hogg has died. We met over fifty years ago. I see us in our first conversation. We leaned on his car or mine: his a green Volvo, mine the same make, model and year but red. He was new to Carleton, just up from Buffalo. He soon had a clan in Ottawa. Fellow poets and students. We had great parties after readings by poets he brought in. Paul Blackburn, Robert Creeley, Allen Ginsberg, The Four Horsemen, from Toronto, among others. The party for Creeley was held at my place and went on far into the wee hours. With his grad students, his wife, Leslie, and mine, Laura, we had memorable nights of poker and refreshments. He was instrumental in having Coach House accept my first book. I owe him much but mostly I'm indebted to him for friendship that lasted until he died. Thanks, Bob.