Listlessly sitting, quietly thinking, wondering of many
things in this life and why they're here when we don't
need them.
They don't enhance our lives in any way, shape or form,
yet we must put up with them anyway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This a moral sentiment implicit in many of your Poems of the Interior Life. You express a quiet but firm impatience with all of the stuff (or junk) that clutters our materialistic lives. Robert Bly expressed this moral position in a poem he wrote in the early 1960s (He's now 88) : THE LOON'S CRY ROSE. IT WAS THE CRY OF SOMEONE WHO OWNED VERY LITTLE. (The loon is the Minnesota State Bird.) Robert Bly is not only a great poet, he is a great person. He always responds to me when I see him at readings, and I'm in AWE of him. Check him out RoseAnn. He is included in all the major anthologies of American poetry.