“It is not our job to remain whole. We came to lose our leaves Like the trees, and be born again, Drawing up from the great roots.” Poetry Author:Robert Bly
“Early Morning in Your Room It's morning. The brown scoops of coffee, the wasp-like Coffee grinder, the neighbors still asleep. The gray light as you pour gleaming water-- It seems you've traveled years to get here. Finally you deserve a house. If not deserve It, have it; no one can get you out. Misery Had its way, poverty, no money at least. Or maybe it was confusion. But that's over. Now you have a room. Those lighthearted books: The Anatomy of Melancholy, Kafka's Letter to his Father, are all here. You can dance With only one leg, and see the snowflake falling With only one eye. Even the blind man Can see. That's what they say. If you had A sad childhood, so what? When Robert Burton Said he was melancholy, he meant he was home.” Poetry Book:Stealing Sugar from the Castle: Selected Poems, 1950–2011 Source: Stealing Sugar from the Castle: Selected Poems, 1950–2011
“The Resemblance Between Your Life And A Dog I never intended to have this life, believe me— It just happened. You know how dogs turn up At a farm, and they wag but can’t explain. It’s good if you can accept your life—you’ll notice Your face has become deranged trying to adjust To it. Your face thought your life would look Like your bedroom mirror when you were ten. That was a clear river touched by mountain wind. Even your parents can’t believe how much you’ve changed. Sparrows in winter, if you’ve ever held one, all feathers, Burst out of your hand with a fiery glee. You see them later in hedges. Teachers praise you, But you can’t quite get back to the winter sparrow. Your life is a dog. He’s been hungry for miles, Doesn’t particularly like you, but gives up, and comes in.” PoetryPoem Book:Morning Poems: A Sensational Daily Poetry Collection on Waking, Mourning, and the Mystery of Creation Source: Morning Poems: A Sensational Daily Poetry Collection on Waking, Mourning, and the Mystery of Creation
“To be wild is not to be crazy or psychotic. True wildness is a love of nature, a delight in silence, a voice free to say spontaneous things, and an exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown.” FacesPoetryVoiceNatureSilenceCrazyCuriosityDelightSpontaneousSpontaneityBeing CrazyPsychoticWildnessNature Love Author:Robert Bly
“One day while studying a Yeats poem I decided to write poetry the rest of my life. I recognized that a single short poem has room for history, music, psychology, religious thought, mood, occult speculation, character, and events of one's own life. I still feel surprised that such various substances can find shelter and nourishment in a poem. A poem in fact may be a sort of nourishing liquid, such as one uses to keep an amoeba alive. If prepared right, a poem can keep an image or a thought or insights on history or the psyche alive for years, as well as our desires and airy impulses.” IfsFeelsWritingYearsWellsMayStillsCharacterFactsUseDesirePoetryReligiousRoomsStudyPsychologyAliveEventsOne DayDecidedPreparedVariousInsightMoodImpulseSubstanceShelterSpeculationLiquidNourishmentOccultAiryYeatsAmoeba Author:Robert Bly
