Robert Bly
author profile
born
December 23, 1926
place of birth
Madison, Minnesota, The United States
website
genre
Poetry
about this author
Robert Bly is an American poet, author, activist and leader of the Mythopoetic Men's Movement in the United States.
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avg rating: 3.98
| 1,801 ratings
| 183 reviews
| 117 distinct works
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3 fans
More books by Robert Bly…
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Iron John: A Book About Men by Robert Bly avg rating 3.59 — 343 ratings — published 1990 15 editions |
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The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart: A Poetry Anthology by Robert Bly , James Hillman , Michael Meade avg rating 4.27 — 109 ratings — published 1992 2 editions |
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A Little Book on the Human Shadow by Robert Bly avg rating 4.18 — 98 ratings — published 1988 3 editions |
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Neruda and Vallejo: Selected Poems by Robert Bly avg rating 4.23 — 81 ratings — published 1970 3 editions |
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Morning Poems by Robert Bly avg rating 3.82 — 76 ratings — published 1997 3 editions |
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News of the Universe: Poems of Twofold Consciousness (Sierra Club Books Publication) by Robert Bly avg rating 4.34 — 58 ratings — published 1982 3 editions |
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Silence in the Snowy Fields: Poems by Robert Bly avg rating 4.28 — 53 ratings — published 1962 |
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Soul Is Here For Its Own Joy by Robert Bly avg rating 4.31 — 52 ratings — published 1999 |
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Leaping Poetry: An Idea With Poems and Translations by Robert Bly avg rating 4.25 — 51 ratings — published 1975 2 editions |
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Lorca & Jimenez: Selected Poems by Robert Bly avg rating 4.49 — 45 ratings — published 1997 |
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"A lazy part of us is like a tumbleweed.
It doesn’t move on its own. Sometimes it takes
A lot of Depression to get tumbleweeds moving."
— Robert Bly (Morning Poems)
It doesn’t move on its own. Sometimes it takes
A lot of Depression to get tumbleweeds moving."
— Robert Bly (Morning Poems)
"BAD PEOPLE
A man told me once that all the bad people
Were needed. Maybe not all, but your fingernails
You need; they are really claws, and we know
Claws. The sharks—what about them?
They make other fish swim faster. The hard-faced men
In black coats who chase you for hours
In dreams—that’s the only way to get you
To the shore. Sometimes those hard women
Who abandon you get you to say, “You.”
A lazy part of us is like a tumbleweed.
It doesn’t move on its own. Sometimes it takes
A lot of Depression to get tumbleweeds moving.
Then they blow across three or four States.
This man told me that things work together.
Bad handwriting sometimes leads to new ideas;
And a careless god—who refuses to let people
Eat from the Tree of Knowledge—can lead
To books, and eventually to us. We write
Poems with lies in them, but they help a little."
— Robert Bly (Morning Poems)
A man told me once that all the bad people
Were needed. Maybe not all, but your fingernails
You need; they are really claws, and we know
Claws. The sharks—what about them?
They make other fish swim faster. The hard-faced men
In black coats who chase you for hours
In dreams—that’s the only way to get you
To the shore. Sometimes those hard women
Who abandon you get you to say, “You.”
A lazy part of us is like a tumbleweed.
It doesn’t move on its own. Sometimes it takes
A lot of Depression to get tumbleweeds moving.
Then they blow across three or four States.
This man told me that things work together.
Bad handwriting sometimes leads to new ideas;
And a careless god—who refuses to let people
Eat from the Tree of Knowledge—can lead
To books, and eventually to us. We write
Poems with lies in them, but they help a little."
— Robert Bly (Morning Poems)
"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."
— Robert Bly (Morning Poems)
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."
— Robert Bly (Morning Poems)
