Robert Bly


Robert Bly
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Robert Bly (born December 23, 1926) is an American poet, author, activist and leader of the mythopoetic men's movement, most famous for his Iron John: A Book About Men (1990), which spent 62 weeks on the The New York Times Best Seller list. For The Light Around the Body he won the 1968 National Book Award for Poetry.

Bly was born in Lac qui Parle County, Minnesota, to Jacob and Alice Bly, who were of Norwegian ancestry. Following graduation from high school in 1944, he enlisted in the United States Navy, serving two years. After one year at St. Olaf College in Minnesota, he transferred to Harvard University, joining the later famous group of writers who were undergraduates at that... more »

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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (3/2/2016 2:49:00 PM)

    'The Loon's Cry'

    From far out in the center of the naked lake
    The loon's cry rose.
    It was the cry of someone who owned very little.


    [Robert Bly - from 'Silence in the Snowy Fields']

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (3/2/2016 2:19:00 PM)

    from 'Silence in the Snowy Fields':

    Winter Privacy Poems

    II
    My shack has two rooms; I use one.
    Te lamplight falls on my chair and table,
    And I fly into one of my own poems -
    I can't tell you where -
    As if I appeared where I am now,
    In a wet field, snow falling.

    IV On Meditation
    There is a solitude like black mud!
    Sitting in this darkness singing,
    I can't tell if this joy
    Is from the body, or the soul, or a third place!

    V Listening to Bach
    Inside this music there is someone
    Who is not well described by the names
    Of Jesus, or Jehovah, or the Lord of Hosts!

    (Robert Bly)

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (12/11/2015 1:18:00 PM)

    Another poem by Robert Bly:

    ''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.

Read all 3 comments »
Best Poem of Robert Bly

For My Son Noah, Ten Years Old

Night and day arrive and day after day goes by,
and what is old remains old, and what is young remains
young and grows old,
and the lumber pile does not grow younger, nor the
weathered two-by-fours lose their darkness,
but the old tree goes on, the barn stands without help so
many years,
the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.

The horse swings around on one leg, steps, and turns,
the chicken flapping claws onto the roost, its wings whelping
and whalloping,
but what is primitive is not to be shot out into the night and
the dark.
And slowly the ...

Read the full of For My Son Noah, Ten Years Old

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