The Executive's Death Poem by Robert Bly

The Executive's Death

Rating: 4.7

Merchants have multiplied more than the stars of heaven.
Half the population are like the long grasshoppers
That sleep in the bushes in the cool of the day;
The sound of their wings is heard at noon, muffled, near the earth.
The crane handler dies; the taxi driver dies, slumped over
In his taxi. Meanwhile high in the air an executive
Walks on cool floors, and suddenly falls.
Dying, he dreams he is lost in a snowbound mountain
On which he crashed, carried at night by great machines.
As he lies on the wintry slope, cut off and dying,
A pine stump talks to him of Goethe and Jesus.
Commuters arrive in Hartford at dusk like moles
Or hares flying from a fire behind them,
And the dusk in Hartford is full of their sighs.
Their trains come through the air like a dark music,
Like the sound of horns, the sound of thousands of small wings.

Sylvia Frances Chan 16 January 2023

THREE: When he is gone, I hope his son Noah will read my response. IF poet Bly is still alive after his birthday in December, he will be 96 years old. I hope he's still reading, he's almost a centennial!

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Sylvia Frances Chan 16 January 2023

TWO: nd what well-worded words in this breathtaking poem. For me, this is a breathtaking poem for sure. Closer Bly gets the galaxy full of stars collected by me, not just the 5 stars here.

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Sylvia Frances Chan 16 January 2023

ONE: Very thought-provoking words in this poem about the director's death, I read his made-up words with my philosophical insights of course,

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