For My Son Noah, Ten Years Old Poem by Robert Bly

For My Son Noah, Ten Years Old

Rating: 4.8


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 kind man comes closer, loses his rage, sits
down at table.

So I am proud only of those days that we pass in undivided
tenderness,
when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled, with
messages to the world...
or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.
Or we sit at a table, with small tea carefully poured;
so we pass our time together, calm and delighted.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Liza Sudina 28 October 2015

Robert! you are proud only of days spent together with your son! - So I am proud only of those days that we pass in undivided tenderness, when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled, with messages to the world... or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair. Or we sit at a table, with small tea carefully poured; so we pass our time together, calm and delighted.

3 0 Reply
Tom Billsborough 31 March 2016

So we pass our time together, calm and delighted. A fine ending to a very good piece. I like the man with fire coming out of his hair. It's very well observed and also moving. Tom Billsborough

3 0 Reply
Jasbir Chatterjee 20 May 2016

yes, some things change and some don't. But peace, goodness of heart, tenderness always stay and that's what keeps us calm, delighted and stable... Congrats on being poet of the day!

2 1 Reply
Dr Antony Theodore 10 July 2020

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. a fine poem of dearness. tony

0 0 Reply
Dr Antony Theodore 10 July 2020

So I am proud only of those days that we pass in undivided tenderness, when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled, with messages to the world... Very good poem. tony

0 0 Reply
Ruta Mohapatra 10 July 2020

A nice poem for his son to grow up and read! A cosy family picture!

0 0 Reply
Mahtab Bangalee 10 July 2020

Wonderful day and beautiful poetic description.... Such a beautiful description that it seems I'm evolving in that days and nights, growing up with the poetic words line of lines...very happy to read

0 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 10 July 2020

Together! ! Day after day! The old tree goes on. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

0 0 Reply
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