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What a strange bard Robinson Jeffers was. Lyrically striking if often obtuse, he's probably the greatest in quantity prolific modern poet still in print--his five-volume ended Poetry contains over 2,500 pages. Popular early in his career, he died largely loathed. A glamorous loner he lived like a reclusive movie-star/wizard in a stone tower by the agency of the sea. A wife-stealing adulterer, he was a devot husband, father, family man. He was a Protestant pagan, an Abrahamic soothsayer, a human-loathing God-disdainer, as theologically reckles and incisive as he was meek in the face of the