Robert Gibbs, poet, novelist, short story
writer, professor, editor, and critic
3 February 1930 —October 20, 2024
The living room in Robert Gibbs’ house was lined with bookshelves, and there were stacks of books on tables and on the floor. There were more bookshelves in the adjacent dining room, and stacks of books on the dining room table, on the chairs around the table, and on a sideboard—or maybe it was a buffet, I don’t remember; I only remember the books. To move through a room, or from one room to the other, was to follow a winding creek bed, flowing with literature, all of it accessible and teeming with life. Robert could locate from within the shelves and stacks the exact book required to underline whatever point was being made at the time.
He had saved a few square feet on the dining room table for his lap top and its faithless companion, the printer, which was a mystery to him. I went to Staples for toner cartridges, and installed them for him, but I was never certain how he got the beast to print anything if I wasn't there to coach him through the process.
We drank many cups of tea together, and at least once we had cocoa, which Robert made the old-fashioned way—milk in a pot on the stove, a scoop of Fry's cocoa, and a spoonful or two of sugar stirred in. The sun streamed in through the back window, turning the cluttered kitchen into a golden oasis, and we talked as we usually did, about a particular poem, maybe, or about one of his novels, while his metal spoon circled the bottom of the pot, willing the cocoa to dissolve. When the milk was sufficiently scalded, and everything mixed to his satisfaction, Robert poured the piping hot cocoa into the two waiting mugs, like a pro, not one spilled drop, and we retired to his living room. He took his chair, and I took the other one—which must have been his brother’s chair when he was alive and living with Robert. There was a book already there for me, something historical Robert wanted me to see, a detail leftover from our last visit, and we settled with our cocoa into the conversation of the day.
Robert was born and grew up in Saint John;
his family was not wealthy enough to send him to university, but with
scholarships he got a few degrees, including one from Cambridge. He taught for
more than twenty-five years at UNB, taking care of his brother all the while.
Robert was the director of UNB’s creative writing graduate program, served as
editor of The Fiddlehead, and, upon his retirement in 1989, was named Professor
Emeritus. He might as well have been named Human Emeritus, for all the
kindnesses he bestowed to his students and to colleagues over the years.
I often invited Robert to be a featured reader at odd sundays at molly’s, and he was always persuaded to come, gracing the mic with his lovely, quiet demeanor. M. Travis Lane said of Robert Gibbs that: “. . . he usually devotes himself to asserting the value of the ordinary.” She called him “a gourmet of the minimal . . . an acknowledged master of the anecdotal poem.”
The Essential Robert Gibbs, published in 2012 by The Porcupine’s Quill, has a wonderful selection of Robert’s poetry, thanks to Brian Bartlett who chose them. I wish I had been one of his students.
Bibliography:
Gibbs, Robert. All This Night Long.
Fredericton, NB: Fiddlehead Poetry Books, 1978.
---. Angels Watch Do Keep. Ottawa,
ON: Oberon, 1997.
---. A Dog in a Dream. New
Brunswick Chapbooks 14. Fredericton, NB: New Brunswick Chapbooks, 1971.
---. Driving to Our Edge. Ottawa,
ON: Oberon, 2003.
---. Earth Aches. Fredericton, NB:
Wild East, 1991.
---. Earth Charms Heard So Early.
Fredericton, NB: Fiddlehead Poetry Books, 1970.
---. “English Poetry in New Brunswick,
1940–1982.” A Literary and Linguistic History of New Brunswick. Ed. W.R.
Gair. Fredericton, NB: Goose Lane, 1986. 125-44.
---. I’ve Always Felt Sorry for
Decimals. Ottawa, ON: Oberon, 1978.
---. A Kind of Wakefulness.
Fredericton, NB: Fiddlehead Poetry Books, 1973.
---. Kindly Light. Ottawa, ON:
Oberon, 2007.
---. A Mouth Organ for Angels.
Ottawa, ON: Oberon, 1984.
---. Personal interview. 20 June 2009.
---, ed. Reflections on a Hill Behind a
Town: An Anthology of Poems by Founders, Editors and Close Associates of the
Fiddlehead to Mark its 35th Anniversary. Spec. issue of The Fiddlehead
125 (1980).
---. The Road From Here. New
Brunswick Chapbook 1. Fredericton, NB: New Brunswick Poetry Chapbooks, 1968.
---. A Space to Play In. Toronto,
ON: League of Canadian Poets, 1980.
---. “Three Decades and a Bit Under the
Elms: A Fragmentary Memoir.” Essays on Canadian Writing 31 (1985):
231-9.
---. The Tongue Still Dances: Poems New
and Selected. Fredericton, NB: Fiddlehead Poetry Books/Goose Lane Editions,
1985.
Gibbs, Robert, and Robert Cockburn, eds. Ninety
Seasons: Modern Poets From the Maritimes. Toronto, ON: McClelland &
Stewart, 1974.
Nowlan, Alden. Early Poems. Ed.
Robert Gibbs. Fredericton, NB: Fiddlehead Poetry Books, 1983.
---. An Exchange of Gifts: Poems New
and Selected. Ed. Robert Gibbs. Toronto, ON: Irwin, 1985.
---. Road Dancers. Ed. Robert
Gibbs. Ottawa, ON: Oberon, 1999.
---. White Madness. Ed. Robert
Gibbs. Ottawa, ON: Oberon, 1996.
allison calvern, creator of odd sundays at molly's reading series, once interviewed Lawrence Ferlinghetti on the top floor of City Lights Books in San Francisco.