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Best Famous Robert Bly Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Robert Bly poems. This is a select list of the best famous Robert Bly poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Robert Bly poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Robert Bly poems.

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by Robert Bly | |

Surprised by Evening

There is unknown dust that is near us 
Waves breaking on shores just over the hill 
Trees full of birds that we have never seen 
Nets drawn with dark fish.
The evening arrives; we look up and it is there It has come through the nets of the stars Through the tissues of the grass Walking quietly over the asylums of the waters.
The day shall never end we think: We have hair that seemed born for the daylight; But at last the quiet waters of the night will rise And our skin shall see far off as it does under water.


by Robert Bly | |

Waking from Sleep

Inside the veins there are navies setting forth 
Tiny explosions at the water lines 
And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood.
It is the morning.
The country has slept the whole winter.
Window seats were covered with fur skins the yard was full Of stiff dogs and hands that clumsily held heavy books.
Now we wake and rise from bed and eat breakfast!- Shouts rise from the harbor of the blood Mist and masts rising the knock of wooden tackle in the sunlight.
Now we sing and do tiny dances on the kitchen floor.
Our whole body is like a harbor at dawn; We know that our master has left us for the day.


by Robert Bly | |

Poems in Three Parts

1

Oh on an early morning I think I shall live forever!
I am wrapped in my joyful flesh 
As the grass is wrapped in its clouds of green.
2 Rising from a bed where I dreamt Of long rides past castles and hot coals The sun lies happily on my knees; I have suffered and survived the night Bathed in dark water like any blade of grass.
3 The strong leaves of the box-elder tree Plunging in the wind call us to disappear Into the wilds of the universe Where we shall sit at the foot of a plant And live forever like the dust.


by Robert Bly | |

Snowfall in the Afternoon

1

The grass is half-covered with snow.
It was the sort of snowfall that starts in late afternoon And now the little houses of the grass are growing dark.
2 If I reached my hands down near the earth I could take handfuls of darkness! A darkness was always there which we never noticed.
3 As the snow grows heavier the cornstalks fade farther away And the barn moves nearer to the house.
The barn moves all alone in the growing storm.
4 The barn is full of corn and moves toward us now Like a hulk blown toward us in a storm at sea; All the sailors on deck have been blind for many years.


by Robert Bly | |

In a Train

There has been a light snow.
Dark car tracks move in out of the darkness.
I stare at the train window marked with soft dust.
I have awakened at Missoula Montana utterly happy.


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.


by Robert Bly | |

Watering the Horse

How strange to think of giving up all ambition!
Suddenly I see with such clear eyes
The white flake of snow
That has just fallen in the horse's mane!


by Robert Bly | |

After Long Busyness

I start out for a walk at last after weeks at the desk.
Moon gone plowing underfoot no stars; not a trace of light! Suppose a horse were galloping toward me in this open field? Every day I did not spend in solitude was wasted.


by Robert Bly | |

Counting Small-boned Bodies

Let's count the bodies over again.
If we could only make the bodies smaller The size of skulls We could make a whole plain white with skulls in the moonlight! If we could only make the bodies smaller Maybe we could get A whole year's kill in front of us on a desk! If we could only make the bodies smaller We could fit A body into a finger-ring for a keepsake forever.


by Robert Bly | |

Looking into a Face

Conversation brings us so close! Opening
The surfs of the body 
Bringing fish up near the sun 
And stiffening the backbones of the sea!

I have wandered in a face for hours 
Passing through dark fires.
I have risen to a body Not yet born Existing like a light around the body Through which the body moves like a sliding moon.


by Robert Bly | |

The Hermit

Darkness is falling through darkness 
Falling from ledge
To ledge.
There is a man whose body is perfectly whole.
He stands the storm behind him And the grass blades are leaping in the wind.
Darkness is gathered in folds About his feet.
He is no one.
When we see Him we grow calm And sail on into the tunnels of joyful death.


by Robert Bly | |

Insect Heads

These insects golden
And Arabic sailing in the husks of galleons 
Their octagonal heads also
Hold sand paintings of the next life.


by Robert Bly | |

Passing an Orchard by Train

Grass high under apple trees.
The bark of the trees rough and sexual the grass growing heavy and uneven.
We cannot bear disaster like the rocks- swaying nakedly in open fields.
One slight bruise and we die! I know no one on this train.
A man comes walking down the aisle.
I want to tell him that I forgive him that I want him to forgive me.


by Robert Bly | |

Driving my Parents Home at Christmas

As I drive my parents home through the snow 
their frailty hesitates on the edge of a mountainside.
I call over the cliff only snow answers.
They talk quietly of hauling water of eating an orange of a grandchild's photograph left behind last night.
When they open the door of their house they disappear.
And the oak when it falls in the forest who hears it through miles and miles of silence? They sit so close to each other¡­as if pressed together by the snow.


by Robert Bly | |

For My Son Noah Ten Years Old

Nigh and day arrive and day after day goes by 
And what is old remains old and what is young remains young and grows old.
The lumber pile does not grow younger nor the two-by-fours lose their darkness but the old tree goes on the barn stands without help so many years; the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.
The horse steps up swings on one leg turns its body the chicken flapping claws onto the roost its wings whelping and walloping but what is primitive is not to be shot out into the night and the dark.
And slowly the kind man comes closer loses his rage sits down at table.
So I am proud only of those days that pass in undivided tenderness when you sit drawing or making books stapled with messages to the world or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.
Or we sit at a table with small tea carefully poured.
So we pass our time together calm and delighted.


by Robert Bly | |

At Midocean

All day I loved you in a fever holding on to the tail of the horse.
I overflowed whenever I reached out to touch you.
My hand moved over your body covered With its dress Burning rough an animal's hand or foot moving over leaves.
The rainstorm retires clouds open sunlight sliding over ocean water a thousand miles from land.


by Robert Bly | |

In Rainy September

In rainy September when leaves grow down to the dark 
I put my forehead down to the damp seaweed-smelling sand.
What can we do but choose? The only way for human beings is to choose.
The fern has no choice but to live; for this crime it receives earth water and night.
we close the door.
"I have no claim on you.
" Dusk comes.
"The love I have had with you is enough.
" We know we could live apart from the flock.
The sheldrake floats apart from the flock.
The oaktree puts out leaves alone on the lonely hillside.
Men and women before us have accomplished this.
I would see you and you me once a year.
We would be two kernels and not be planted.
We stay in the room door closed lights out.
I weep with you without shame and without honor.


by Robert Bly | |

The Buried Train

 Tell me about the train that people say got buried
By the avalanche--was it snow?--It was
In Colorado, and no one saw it happen.
There was smoke from the engine curling up Lightly through fir tops, and the engine sounds.
There were all those people reading--some From Thoreau, some from Henry Ward Beecher.
And the engineer smoking and putting his head out.
I wonder when that happened.
Was it after High School, or was it the year we were two? We entered this narrow place, and we heard the sound Above us--the train couldn't move fast enough.
It isn't clear what happened next.
Are you and I Still sitting there in the train, waiting for the lights To go on? Or did the real train get really buried; So at night a ghost train comes out and keeps going.
.
.


by Robert Bly | |

Snowbanks North of the House

 Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house .
.
.
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more books; the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls leaving the church.
It will not come closer the one inside moves back, and the hands touch nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots in the dust .
.
.
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away, and did not climb the hill.


by Robert Bly | |

The Cat in the Kitchen

 (For Donald Hall)

Have you heard about the boy who walked by
The black water? I won't say much more.
Let's wait a few years.
It wanted to be entered.
Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand Reaches out and pulls him in.
There was no Intention, exactly.
The pond was lonely, or needed Calcium, bones would do.
What happened then? It was a little like the night wind, which is soft, And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman In her kitchen late at night, moving pans About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.