Gone is the Jheri curl of the '80s. His hair is cropped short, combed back in a style reminiscent of his early look. He's a believer in vitamins and yoga (''I'm not really metaphysical about it, though''), and the beneficial effects of both regimens are apparent in his disarmingly youthful appearance. Motown artists were coached to always be affable, never to offend, but you get the feeling such qualities are inherent in Smokey. He's given to freely dispensing hugs to friends, business associates, and, yup, even reporters. It's impossible not to be charmed by his personable old-school manners, especially when he fixes those shimmering green eyes on you and addresses you by your first name, which he does often.

He's just settled down for the first of two wide-ranging EWinterviews when a knock announces the arrival of his lunch: a turkey omelet, home fries, and pineapple juice. Directly behind the serving person stands a small coterie of the hotel's female staff, giggling and seeking autographs. Smokey is only too happy to oblige them. They are, after all, women. Not that Smokey wouldn't gladly sign an autograph for a guy. But women — well, women will forever occupy an exalted place in Smokey's universe.

Smokey Robinson has always ''loved love'' — the idea, the state, the word itself. As a songwriter, he stands as our era's populist Ovid, a master at chronicling romantic arcs — yearning, adoration, elation, heartbreak — and conveying the infinite variety of ways those feelings bleed and feed into each other. ''He has a tremendous amount of passion and feeling that he projects into a song,'' says his ex-wife, Claudette, his high school sweetheart and an ex-member of the Miracles. ''And the love that he is able to convey in his lyrics is what he projected to me as a husband and lover and friend.''

With characteristic humility, Smokey brushes aside the notion that distilling romance into songs constitutes art. ''Songwriting is a craft,'' he says. ''There are no new words, no new notes, probably no new ideas. So you have to take the old stuff and write about it differently, try to say it in a way that's unique and fresh.''

He's consistently done that — and much more. Back in the '60s, Bob Dylan cited him as one of his favorite poets. ''He's out there without anyone near him,'' seconds Elvis Costello, who has covered the Miracles' ''From Head to Toe'' (and recorded an unreleased version of ''First I Look at the Purse,'' the jokey gigolo's anthem Smokey wrote for the Contours). ''He's got a one-of-a-kind voice, and a one-of-a-kind mind for songwriting. There's a superb song he wrote called 'No More Tearstained Make Up,' which goes 'No sponge has the power to absorb the shower of tears pancake and powder couldn't cover.' I mean, that's amazing! He had these fabulous images — you can fly on them.''

''He formulated a generation's thoughts on how to express love,'' says R&B singer Maxwell. ''My favorite song of his is 'Ain't That Peculiar,' which he wrote for Marvin Gaye. It's one of the most genius lyrics ever written. It's literally like a lovers' guideline — it's almost like Deepak Chopra.''