Deepest sympathies to his family, friends and colleagues. Sad news indeed.

To my mentor:
Ode to Robert Kroetsch

A stag pretends to chew at the grass on the side of a busy road,

But his eye under lash feverishly scans what is real;

The bush is his back up until a young deer timidly approaches,

Emptiness is the physics of separate entities;

Cars and trucks are symbolic of streamers, demons flashing teeth;

A doe dances up on the grass, she nudges him, and his noble head

Transforms into a majestic mountain that is just ahead:

Roadside rallies are not for the timid, but instinct moves the family,

Much more to be done when birds flock in certain ways:

Brown winged spirals mass along the grassy edge;

A warning to nature that the earth will stop for awhile,

Grace and beauty step off, and the deer step back into the bush.

I am so terribly sad to hear that Robert Kroetsch has died. His generous correspondence with me over the past few years was crucial to the writing of my book, The Art of John Snow. He was a brilliant, gentle and stupendously inspiring soul. I am so grateful for his kind interest in my project, and for that marvellous recent conversation about Japanese poetry, the new social media, Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time, and ravioli stuffed with lobster and cream. You are in my heart.

Elizabeth Herbert, Calgary