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This Tree Will Be Here for a Thousand Years
His sixth major collection of poetry.
- GenresPoetry
Paperback
First published January 1, 1979
About the author
Robert Bly
284 books419 followersRobert Bly was an American poet, author, activist and leader of the Mythopoetic Men's Movement.
Robert Bly was born in western Minnesota in 1926 to parents of Norwegian stock. He enlisted in the Navy in 1944 and spent two years there. After one year at St. Olaf College in Minnesota, he transferred to Harvard and thereby joined the famous group of writers who were undergraduates at that time, which included Donald Hall, Adrienne Rich, Kenneth Koch, John Ashbery, Harold Brodky, George Plimpton, and John Hawkes. He graduated in 1950 and spent the next few years in New York living, as they say, hand to mouth.
Beginning in 1954, he took two years at the University of Iowa at the Writers Workshop along with W. D. Snodgrass, Donald Justice, and others. In 1956 he received a Fulbright grant to travel to Norway and translate Norwegian poetry into English. While there he found not only his relatives but the work of a number of major poets whose force was not present in the United States, among them Pablo Neruda, Cesar Vallejo, Gunnar Ekelof, Georg Trakl and Harry Martinson. He determined then to start a literary magazine for poetry translation in the United States and so begin The Fifties and The Sixties and The Seventies, which introduced many of these poets to the writers of his generation, and published as well essays on American poets and insults to those deserving. During this time he lived on a farm in Minnesota with his wife and children.
In 1966 he co-founded American Writers Against the Vietnam War and led much of the opposition among writers to that war. When he won the National Book Award for The Light Around the Body, he contributed the prize money to the Resistance. During the 70s he published eleven books of poetry, essays, and translations, celebrating the power of myth, Indian ecstatic poetry, meditation, and storytelling. During the 80s he published Loving a Woman in Two Worlds, The Wingéd Life: Selected Poems and Prose of Thoreau,The Man in the Black Coat Turns, and A Little Book on the Human Shadow.
His work Iron John: A Book About Men is an international bestseller which has been translated into many languages. He frequently does workshops for men with James Hillman and others, and workshops for men and women with Marion Woodman. He and his wife Ruth, along with the storyteller Gioia Timpanelli, frequently conduct seminars on European fairy tales. In the early 90s, with James Hillman and Michael Meade, he edited The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart, an anthology of poems from the men's work. Since then he has edited The Darkness Around Us Is Deep: Selected Poems of William Stafford, and The Soul Is Here for Its Own Joy, a collection of sacred poetry from many cultures.
Robert Bly was born in western Minnesota in 1926 to parents of Norwegian stock. He enlisted in the Navy in 1944 and spent two years there. After one year at St. Olaf College in Minnesota, he transferred to Harvard and thereby joined the famous group of writers who were undergraduates at that time, which included Donald Hall, Adrienne Rich, Kenneth Koch, John Ashbery, Harold Brodky, George Plimpton, and John Hawkes. He graduated in 1950 and spent the next few years in New York living, as they say, hand to mouth.
Beginning in 1954, he took two years at the University of Iowa at the Writers Workshop along with W. D. Snodgrass, Donald Justice, and others. In 1956 he received a Fulbright grant to travel to Norway and translate Norwegian poetry into English. While there he found not only his relatives but the work of a number of major poets whose force was not present in the United States, among them Pablo Neruda, Cesar Vallejo, Gunnar Ekelof, Georg Trakl and Harry Martinson. He determined then to start a literary magazine for poetry translation in the United States and so begin The Fifties and The Sixties and The Seventies, which introduced many of these poets to the writers of his generation, and published as well essays on American poets and insults to those deserving. During this time he lived on a farm in Minnesota with his wife and children.
In 1966 he co-founded American Writers Against the Vietnam War and led much of the opposition among writers to that war. When he won the National Book Award for The Light Around the Body, he contributed the prize money to the Resistance. During the 70s he published eleven books of poetry, essays, and translations, celebrating the power of myth, Indian ecstatic poetry, meditation, and storytelling. During the 80s he published Loving a Woman in Two Worlds, The Wingéd Life: Selected Poems and Prose of Thoreau,The Man in the Black Coat Turns, and A Little Book on the Human Shadow.
His work Iron John: A Book About Men is an international bestseller which has been translated into many languages. He frequently does workshops for men with James Hillman and others, and workshops for men and women with Marion Woodman. He and his wife Ruth, along with the storyteller Gioia Timpanelli, frequently conduct seminars on European fairy tales. In the early 90s, with James Hillman and Michael Meade, he edited The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart, an anthology of poems from the men's work. Since then he has edited The Darkness Around Us Is Deep: Selected Poems of William Stafford, and The Soul Is Here for Its Own Joy, a collection of sacred poetry from many cultures.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
February 2, 2026
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been wanting to love on the great state of Minnesota this week, want to offer some sort of counterbalance, at least in my own mind, to the nonsensical violence that has been erupting in that otherwise peaceful place.
It was almost magical that a collection of poetry by Robert Bly fell onto my wrist as I was reaching for another book in the library.
Here was the answer, this week, for me: Robert Bly, the Norwegian-American and lifelong Minnesotan.
Robert Bly may not be a household name anymore, but once he was a quite well-known poet, and an outspoken crusader for the end of the violence in Vietnam. He was also an international translator (fluent in Norwegian, English, and I suspect Spanish) and a mystical poet who championed for our spiritual and emotional health, rationalizing our light and shadow selves.
This was my first experience of Bly’s work, and it started out rather dull. It didn’t take long for me to realize that this lover of Rumi’s and Neruda's work had more to offer than it first appeared.
I was surprised by how often I laughed, too:
I get up late and ask what has to be done today.
Nothing has to be done, so the farm looks doubly good.
The blowing maple leaves fit so well with the moving
grass.
The shadow of my writing shack looks smalls beside the
growing trees.
Never be with your children, let them get stringy like
radishes!
Let your wife worry about the lack of money!
Your whole life is like some drunkard’s dream!
You haven’t combed your hair for a whole month!
There’s a balance, isn’t there, in making peace with your wild bits and pieces, and taking proper care of a family? Let’s just say I’m not so sure I’d always have wanted Robert Bly for the father of my children, but I’d certainly have loved having him as a neighbor or friend.
I like our new relationship! I’m interested in more of his work.
It was peaceful, and restorative, to be with Robert Bly on his farm in Minnesota, circa 1979. The snow seems to fall perpetually in the background, a reminder that nature is essential to our very survival, that we can overcome greed and violence when we remember what we are:
It is a pale tree,
all alone in January snow.
Beneath it a shoot
eaten pale by a rabbit. . .
Looking up I see the farmyards with their groves--
the pines somber,
made for winter, they knew it would come. . .
And the cows inside the barn, caring nothing for all this,
their noses in the incense hay,
half-drunk, dusk comes as it was promised
to them by their savior.
It was almost magical that a collection of poetry by Robert Bly fell onto my wrist as I was reaching for another book in the library.
Here was the answer, this week, for me: Robert Bly, the Norwegian-American and lifelong Minnesotan.
Robert Bly may not be a household name anymore, but once he was a quite well-known poet, and an outspoken crusader for the end of the violence in Vietnam. He was also an international translator (fluent in Norwegian, English, and I suspect Spanish) and a mystical poet who championed for our spiritual and emotional health, rationalizing our light and shadow selves.
This was my first experience of Bly’s work, and it started out rather dull. It didn’t take long for me to realize that this lover of Rumi’s and Neruda's work had more to offer than it first appeared.
I was surprised by how often I laughed, too:
I get up late and ask what has to be done today.
Nothing has to be done, so the farm looks doubly good.
The blowing maple leaves fit so well with the moving
grass.
The shadow of my writing shack looks smalls beside the
growing trees.
Never be with your children, let them get stringy like
radishes!
Let your wife worry about the lack of money!
Your whole life is like some drunkard’s dream!
You haven’t combed your hair for a whole month!
There’s a balance, isn’t there, in making peace with your wild bits and pieces, and taking proper care of a family? Let’s just say I’m not so sure I’d always have wanted Robert Bly for the father of my children, but I’d certainly have loved having him as a neighbor or friend.
I like our new relationship! I’m interested in more of his work.
It was peaceful, and restorative, to be with Robert Bly on his farm in Minnesota, circa 1979. The snow seems to fall perpetually in the background, a reminder that nature is essential to our very survival, that we can overcome greed and violence when we remember what we are:
It is a pale tree,
all alone in January snow.
Beneath it a shoot
eaten pale by a rabbit. . .
Looking up I see the farmyards with their groves--
the pines somber,
made for winter, they knew it would come. . .
And the cows inside the barn, caring nothing for all this,
their noses in the incense hay,
half-drunk, dusk comes as it was promised
to them by their savior.
February 28, 2019
Anthropomorphism throughout these verses was, for me, beautifully displayed and enjoyable to read. Here’s an example: “The snow water glances up at the new moon” from Frost Still in the Ground. But I simply tired of his recurrent snow theme—a walk before, a dream of, an accumulation of, a night of, a storm. These were not disappointing efforts per se, just a bit monotonous. More variety in the choice for this collection would have been welcome.
October 14, 2022
I read this collection for the first time in the early '80s in a poetry seminar in grad school. I somehow didn't notice, as I did on this reading, how lonely these poems are, and how much the poet is writing out of isolation. On first reading, I was trained on a consciousness trying to quiet itself. This time, though, the work seemed to echo with the few missing people who are mentioned in third person.
July 2, 2016
Half-baked Zen, Midwestern style. These are the poems of a man who apparently thinks every dream he's had, or random doddering free association he's made, is worth publishing, and for whom no metaphor is too absurd. What's interesting about this volume is the implicit sense of the poet's inflated ego, as though he's convinced he's some latter-day Du Fu — that his verses really will be here for a thousand years — and the level-headed voices of reality have yet to tell him otherwise.
Still way better than Billy Collins, though.
Still way better than Billy Collins, though.
April 23, 2020
Robert Bly is a national treasure.
December 15, 2020
Super quick read. I wanted the poems to move more than they did. They stayed pretty near the surface.
February 5, 2022
In his preface, Bly talks about connecting his consciousness with something larger. Not only is he wildly successful at this, but he does it with enormous skill.
June 11, 2022
2nd try - genre. Needs more exploration. ‘Popple’
December 30, 2024
gifted to me by a dear friend who found his words very important to her childhood
April 16, 2011
This guy, Bly, needs to go easy on the exclamation points. Jeesh. He's writing about snow-laden landscapes on the midwestern plains or some hushed reverie and then !!!BAM!!! an exclamation point goes off like a gunshot. Look at some of these:
"Oval/Faces crowding to the window!
"When I write of moral things,/The clouds boil/Blackly!"
"Never be with your children, let them get string like radishes!/Let you wife worry about the lack of money!/Your whole life is like a drunkard's dream!/You haven't combed your hair for a whole month!"
"Maybe a good tracker could guess his weight./It must be that I will die one day!
My other beef with these poems is that he sticks the word black or dark or blackening or darkly into just about every poem, sometimes several times in a single poem. I know Bly was into the Deep Image Movement, but you don't get deep images just because you toss in some words like black or dark. (Reminds me of the poets who've decided that the word "numinous" can and ought to be used at least once per poem.)
Do I recommend this book to anyone? Nope.
"Oval/Faces crowding to the window!
"When I write of moral things,/The clouds boil/Blackly!"
"Never be with your children, let them get string like radishes!/Let you wife worry about the lack of money!/Your whole life is like a drunkard's dream!/You haven't combed your hair for a whole month!"
"Maybe a good tracker could guess his weight./It must be that I will die one day!
My other beef with these poems is that he sticks the word black or dark or blackening or darkly into just about every poem, sometimes several times in a single poem. I know Bly was into the Deep Image Movement, but you don't get deep images just because you toss in some words like black or dark. (Reminds me of the poets who've decided that the word "numinous" can and ought to be used at least once per poem.)
Do I recommend this book to anyone? Nope.
September 13, 2015
I enjoyed this book of Bly's poetry, but I find it more interesting as an historical artifact of a certain period of what poetry was in America than as an important book overall. The approach is minimalist, imagistic. The images themselves, farm land, nature, reflects a period of American culture that seems currently to have vanished from most of our lives. Walking across a plowed cornfield seems an activity far removed from most people's experience these days.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews