Len Roberts was one of America's greatest narrative poets. Think for a moment of how he memorialized his life -- starting with the kitchen -- poems, one might say (with admiration) that were meditations on blue-collar life, a working class family, harsh identities -- made into a new reality. Len was a hero of the written word, if that speaks of the way adversity challenged a champion. In his early poems he turned hard times into art -- poetry that flares with the sights and sounds of a man truly alive.
Len will always be more alive than dead.

The poems I recall vividly at this moment, are those about his problems speaking as a child. He was a stutterer. The nuns at school brought him in early mornings before class to hold marbles in his mouth, to speak through marbles, to correct his disability! Transformation is a beautiful word. It is especially beautiful because Len became a great "talker" -- teacher, lecturer, professor -- also; one who turned his speech to prose and poetry of the highest locution. Let us praise transformation and all those not daunted by the ordinary world, and those who choose to operate within the not so ordinary world of poetry.

A few years ago, I heard Len speak at St. Mary's College of Maryland where I was teaching as poet with Michael Glaser. Len delivered a powerful talk, a philosophical discourse analyzing, but not condoning, the orthodoxy of religion. It was a brilliant treatise. This does not mean he was skeptical of the religious life. He was never a skeptic -- wry, ironic, yes -- but never critical of the great forces beneath his poetry and all poetry. Even with his protestations about formalism in religion, a deep faith was evident. I told him so. It shone through the intellect. How else could he write such enduring poems? I maintain it was because he believed in happiness, the most spiritual of all principles.

Len Roberts' life was distinguished by teaching, translating, writing and his family life. He engaged ideas with vigor, balancing wisdom with harmony. His personal journey was almost a poetic practice: consistency, coherence, unity, symmetry, intensity. I'd say a lot like poetry itself. In the classroom and lecture hall, Len Roberts' honesty was startling, but no more than in his poetry. Whether on the page, or in person, Len never used words to manipulate, persuade, or control. And he was rewarded for his poetry. Last year he won the River Styx Award for a single poem. There were trophies for Len, wherever he went, but none more important than his understanding of our friendship and the friendship of other poets.

Len Roberts' life was as incandescent as the sun in July. It will never be less penetrating or spectacular. He will always be alive because energy does not die. And his voice -- emblematic of America -- "is available everywhere books are sold." I know he would not mind my saying that. I can just see his face. That grin. I always loved to see Len smile.