Gary Snyder’s "Four Poems for Robin: December at Yase" is a poignant reflection on lost love, self-imposed solitude, and the passage of time. As the final poem in the Four Poems for Robin sequence, it brings a sense of closure to the speaker’s long-held emotions, though not without a lingering uncertainty. Throughout the poem, Snyder employs his characteristic precision and restraint, allowing the weight of memory and personal choice to emerge subtly against the backdrop of time’s inexorable flow. The poem opens with a recollection, an intimate moment set in “tall dry grass by the orchard” in October, when Robin declared her independence:
"When you chose to be free, / ‘Again someday, maybe ten years.’”
This phrase encapsulates the uncertainty of youth, where parting is softened by the possibility of reunion. Yet, it also suggests a fateful turn, as the speaker clings to these words across time. The orchard setting evokes a sense of ripeness and transience, hinting at the fleeting nature of love. The phrase “chose to be free” underscores Robin’s agency, yet it also implies a certain finality—freedom from the relationship, from youthful attachments. The speaker then recounts a brief encounter after college:
"After college I saw you / One time. You were strange. / And I was obsessed with a plan."
This moment, awkward and distant, suggests that whatever connection once existed has faded, transformed by time and individual pursuits. The contrast between “You were strange” and “I was obsessed with a plan” implies that each has become unfamiliar to the other, shaped by different paths. The speaker’s “plan”—though unspecified—suggests a rigid sense of purpose, perhaps a desire for independence, artistic or spiritual growth, or a personal quest that took precedence over love. The poem then shifts to the present, acknowledging the passage of “ten years and more”:
"Gone by: I’ve always known / where you were— / I might have gone to you / Hoping to win your love back. / You still are single."
This confession carries both wistfulness and restraint. The speaker admits to always being aware of Robin’s whereabouts, suggesting that she remained an unspoken presence in his life. Yet, despite the opportunity to rekindle the relationship, he refrains. Her status as “still single” might imply that fate presented another chance, but the speaker does not act on it. This decision feels deliberate, grounded in the belief that “I thought I must make it alone. I / Have done that.” There is pride in this statement, but also the faint shadow of doubt—did solitude serve as a path to enlightenment, or was it a refusal to confront the vulnerability of love? It is only in dreams that the past returns in full force:
"Only in dream, like this dawn, / Does the grave, awed intensity / Of our young love / Return to my mind, to my flesh."
The mention of dawn suggests awakening, both literal and metaphorical. In the liminal space between sleep and consciousness, the speaker briefly relives the intensity of his youthful love, feeling it “to my flesh”—a rare admission of embodied longing in Snyder’s typically restrained style. The phrase “grave, awed intensity” conveys reverence for what was once shared, a love so profound that it left a lasting imprint on both memory and body. The final stanza delivers the poem’s most reflective and perhaps tragic realization:
"We had what the others / All crave and seek for; / We left it behind at nineteen."
This moment of clarity is striking. The speaker acknowledges that what he and Robin had was rare—something most people “crave and seek for”—yet they chose to abandon it. The use of “we” suggests mutual responsibility, but there is an undercurrent of loss and inevitability. Their love was profound, yet they did not hold onto it, whether due to youth, ambition, or the belief that they were meant to follow separate destinies. The poem’s final lines leave the speaker in a state of profound uncertainty:
"I feel ancient, as though I had / Lived many lives. / And may never now know / If I am a fool / Or have done what my / karma demands."
The word “ancient” suggests the weight of experience, as if the speaker has aged beyond his years, shaped by choices that carried spiritual and existential consequences. The reference to “karma” invokes a Buddhist framework, where actions determine one’s path. Yet, there is no certainty—only the open-ended question of whether his decision was wisdom or folly. The ambiguity of “may never now know” suggests that some answers remain elusive, even after years of introspection. Snyder’s use of plain, direct language heightens the poem’s emotional resonance. There are no elaborate metaphors, no poetic flourishes—just stark recollection and honest questioning. The absence of punctuation in key moments, such as “I feel ancient, as though I had / Lived many lives”, creates a fluidity that mirrors the speaker’s drifting thoughts, the way memories bleed into the present. Ultimately, "Four Poems for Robin: December at Yase" is a meditation on love, choice, and the passage of time. The poem grapples with the consequences of decisions made in youth, questioning whether solitude was a path to self-fulfillment or an evasion of love’s complexities. The final uncertainty—whether he was a “fool” or followed his “karma”—leaves the poem suspended in timeless contemplation, mirroring the very nature of memory itself.
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