Robert Bly Comments (3)

'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']
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)
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.