Robert Bly is another poet I find myself reading these days. A little extra, given his passing earlier this year.
So, in addition to David Whyte’s words that I posted yesterday, I add in a mix of some Bly today, that continue to guide me in my week.
Again, with appreciation for Bly’s thoughtful and still heart, in this winter and solstice time of year. I love his attentiveness as a person, but perhaps extra as a man, to winter and the wind, and the stillness and simple clarity that desires to be heard from within.
From “Poem Against the British”…
“It is good also to be poor, and to listen to the wind.”
“I want to go down and rest in the black earth of silence.”
And the poem, “Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter”…
“It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around, I will waste more time.”
And last, for today, the poem, “Watering the Horse”…
“How strange to think of giving up all ambition!
Suddenly I see with such clear eyes
The white flake of snow
That has just fallen in the horse’s mane!”