The Poet’s Letter, after Poetry & Meditation Group, Minneapolis, Minnesota, November 2008, photo © 2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
One of the highlights of a busy week was our Poetry & Meditation Group on Wednesday night. There was homemade banana bread and a lively discussion about the Presidential election framed by Harlem Renaissance poet, Langston Hughes.
There were antique Christmas lights and maps and readings of two poems each. There were gifts of pocket journals and stories from a woman who had just returned from a trip to India and Nepal.
Then it happened, that little surprise. Once again there was a return letter in the mail from one of the poets to whom we had sent a thank you card.
This time it was Minnesota poet, Robert Bly. Now in his eighties, Robert Bly was named Minnesota’s first poet laureate in February of 2008. The fact that he is a hometown favorite who has authored more than 30 books of poetry made it all the more sweet. Teri asked in the thank you card about a poem the group had listened to, but was unable to locate in any of his books.
Here’s what he wrote, tapped out on the keys of a classic typewriter:
October 21st, 2008
Dear Teri Blair,
Thank you for the sweet note you wrote signed by so many other people. It’s very touching that these poems were sweet to you. The poem you mentioned called “The Two Rivers” goes this way:
Inside us there is a river born in the
good cold
That longs to give itself to the Gulf
of light.
And there is another river–more like
the Missouri–
That carries earth, and earth joys, and
the earthly.
I’m sending you a new CD you might like.
With warm wishes
and thanks,
The CD was a translation of the mystic poet and philosopher, Kabir (1398 – 1518), arranged by Robert Bly, in his own voice, and accompanied by music. I felt so much gratitude that the poet took the time to write back.
At the end of the night, in low-light conditions, I shot these few photographs. They are dark and tinted from the reddish-yellow glow of a string of giant Christmas bulbs. Teri shared a story about how she inherited the lights found hidden on top of a rainwater cistern in the basement of a Minnesota farmhouse that has been in her family for generations. I like the graininess and hue; it captures the warmth of the evening.
We become more grateful as each month goes on. Once again, thank you to the poets, and for the poems and groups that keep them alive. I feel thankful to have this place in which to share the poets’ letters.
It’s getting late. I’ll end the post with a Robert Bly poem from the American Life In Poetry series with Ted Kooser (another poet who was gracious enough to write back). May we all be blessed with such humility and grace.
American Life in Poetry: Column 165
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
In “The Moose,” a poem much too long to print here, the late Elizabeth Bishop was able to show a community being created from a group of strangers on a bus who come in contact with a moose on the highway. They watch it together and become one. Here Robert Bly of Minnesota assembles a similar community, around an eclipse. Notice how the experience happens to “we,” the group, not just to “me,” the poet.
Seeing the Eclipse in Maine
It started about noon. On top of Mount Batte,
We were all exclaiming. Someone had a cardboard
And a pin, and we all cried out when the sun
Appeared in tiny form on the notebook cover.
It was hard to believe. The high school teacher
We’d met called it a pinhole camera,
People in the Renaissance loved to do that.
And when the moon had passed partly through
We saw on a rock underneath a fir tree,
Dozens of crescents–made the same way–
Thousands! Even our straw hats produced
A few as we moved them over the bare granite.
We shared chocolate, and one man from Maine
Told a joke. Suns were everywhere–at our feet.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem (c) 1997 by Robert Bly, whose most recent book of poetry is “My Sentence Was a Thousand Years of Joy,” Harper Perennial, 2006.
Poem reprinted from “Music, Pictures, and Stories,” Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 2002, by permission of the writer. Introduction copyright (c) 2008 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
The Essence Of Poetry Group, Letter From Robert Bly, Hand To Hand, after Poetry & Meditation Group, Minneapolis, Minnesota, November 2008, photo © 2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Friday, November 7th, 2008, with gratitude to Teri, the members of our poetry group, and all other writers and artists groups out there keeping our dreams alive
What a great group you guys have going. Robert Bly is a true scholar. He has made beautiful translations of some of my most treasured poetry, such as works by Rumi and Garcia Lorca. I’m looking forward to reading and listening to his renditions of Kabir.
Wonderful post, photos, and links.
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Great post. The idea of the poetry group spread to Milwaukee and who knows where else. Maybe soon poets everywhere in America will receive cards and letter from people who read their poetry and enjoy in the “we” of a group and not just in the “I” of a solitary reader. You guys rock!
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QM and Teri (and other members of your group)—what a treat! First thing I noticed when studying the letter in the top photo and before reading the post was—it’s typed on an old-fashioned typewriter. Or is it?? The font looks old-fashioned that way, but perhaps it’s simply a font on a word-processing program on a regular computer.
The pink hue is lovely, QM. And Teri, cool story about the antique Christmas lights. Do you have an idea of who they might have belonged to?
The poem “The Two Rivers” is so deep, so resonant—I have read it several times now and feel it, see it, perhaps even am assigning it two physical rivers I know that have the characteristics of the two rivers, but then also the metaphor of the rivers—well, it’s brilliant.
I have other thoughts on the post, which I’ll digest and come back to say. For now: thanks for bringing the richness of this group into all our lives.
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QM,
Thank you for the lovely post reminding me that what I experience at the poetry group is real. Interacting with the poems and the poets is a beautiful experience but the sharing of the members of the group leaves me feeling as if I have been to a holy place. Surely this is one aspect of the very essence of poetry. When delving into a poem one hopes to find something sacred and life-giving. I still find myself happily surprised at the vulnerability of what was shared or verbalized each time we meet.
Be reminded that your posting further validates my experience and joy.
With Love
Ruth
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That’s so freakin’ cool.
And that’s a wonderful poem, he typed out to you.
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I concur with Christine (#1); Robert Bly is brilliant. How does one learn so many languages, let alone to the degree of being able to translate?
I also admire Bly’s long-standing opposition to war. He organized writers to stand together during the Vietnam War, and was standing in the gap when we were about to invade Iraq.
Robert Bly is not only a Minnesota treasure; he is a national treasure.
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Thank you for these wonderful comments. Makes my day. And it’s been such a crazy week, I have missed the time to comment like I usually do.
Christine, amazing how a person can translate poetry in so many different languages. I am challenged in that area and so appreciate other people’s efforts to translate poetry and literature toward that end so that we can all enjoy it.
Bob, I like the idea of the notion of gratitude to other writers, poets, artists, spreading out across the country. I have always been and will always be a big proponent of giving back in that way. There is something so right about it.
ybonesy, it did appear to be typewritten which I just totally loved. I’ve been typing up parts of the Tao Te Ching on the Royal I have at the studio and there is something so satisfying about that! The photos are a little dark but I ended up really liking the tinting so I went with them. I can’t believe any parts of them are even in focus!
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Ruth Louise, I was just beaming when I read your comment. It was wonderful to see you at the poetry group this week. You have a huge heart and I greatly admire the work you are doing out in the world at large. I really mean that.
I like these lines from you about the poetry group —
When delving into a poem one hopes to find something sacred and life-giving. I still find myself happily surprised at the vulnerability of what was shared or verbalized each time we meet.
I’m with you. I think it speaks to the way poetry can open us up to others’ experiences in life, so different from our own. Reading Langston Hughes’ work was so poignant right after the election of Obama. I loved hearing everyone read his poems, written and experienced from the black perspective of the 1920’s and 30’s in America. Moving.
Thanks again for your comment. 8) (Me beaming)
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I love how these photos turned out, QM. I’m thrilled to see them here on red Ravine.
When I was in western Minnesota last spring, I went to Madison (Bly’s hometown) and sat for a while outside his small brick high school. Just looking at it. Later, a local in the coffee shop was happy to give me directions to his farm, the one he was both raised in and returned to (to raise his own four children) after Harvard and Europe.
I had the same sensation looking at the blue farmhouse at the end of a long, curved driveway as I did looking at Mark Twain’s birth cabin in Missouri. Out of the most humble places spring such minds.
Robert made a firm and conscious decision to not head to academia; he wanted to be a poet out amongst the people.
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amuirin, thanks so much for stopping by. I feel so much gratitude for the different creative communities I am a part of and this poetry group is high on my list of nurturing and wonderful things. I was so moved when Teri read the letter and poem from Robert Bly, and then we passed it around the circle.
I love to do these posts because my hope is that it inspires others to start their own groups, whether writing, painting, poetry, no matter. It does take effort and commitment and time. But the rewards are great.
BTW, the Bly poem, “Two Rivers” (that ybonesy also referenced) was so fitting with the poetry of Langston Hughes. He, too, wrote about rivers in relationship to black history and also about Abe Lincoln’s journey down the river (also referenced by Steve Almond in an essay that he wrote. I’ll have to find that comment I made about it somewhere on red Ravine and add the link).
Maybe Teri can add more about the Langston Hughes poem about rivers. She played an audio excerpt with Hughes talking about how he became a poet. It was wonderful and also referenced his relationship to rivers.
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Sinclair, I’m stumped about how a person learns and retains so many languages. It is not a gift I possess and I’m in awe of those who speak many languages. How do they do it?
Yes, Bly’s involvement with the Vietnam War. There are some good links in this piece for anyone who wants to read more about Robert Bly. He’s got a good website and there’s an interview with him if you click on the Robert Bly link in his letter (right after “With warm wishes and thanks”).
The links to the poet Elizabeth Bishop and the mystic Kabir are also informative. I’m always amazed at how similar the mystics are across all religions and cultures. I love the breadth and inclusion of mysticism.
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Follow these steps and you’ll be able to hear a great clip (2-3 minutes long) where Langston Hughes talks about rivers, Abraham Lincoln, and slavery.
1. poets.org
2. Type in poem box (upper left-hand corner):
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
3. Click on the blue link of the poem
4. Listen to Langston
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Bly is one of those rare individuals who consistently stands up for something, and stands again and again. He’s taken heat for his positions, but has the inner strength to keep standing. He does it in peace, but with firmness and conviction. No one has to wonder what Robert Bly thinks, nor are they trampled by him.
Isn’t that the best way for a person (or a poet) to be?
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Teri, thanks for coming back and adding the steps to get to the Langston Hughes poem about rivers (#12). Rivers run through the writing and poetry of many writers. They connect all of us, and carry everything with them, all the way to the sea.
I’m glad you like the way the photos turned out. Remember how dark it was when I was down on the floor shooting them Wednesday night? I had no idea if I’d be able to post them. I had to hold my breath when I was shooting. 8)
I had forgotten that you went to see Robert Bly’s blue farmhouse. I remember now you maybe leaving me a voicemail when you were sitting there at the end of the lane. It’s coming back to me — that was so cool. (Note: ybonesy – whoops, use of the word “cool”)
Bly sounds really down to earth, grounded in his roots. I always respect that in a writer. I appreciate all the tidbits you are sharing about him. Please feel free to drop them in as you remember them. I savor these details.
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Oh, Teri, and any others from poetry group who are reading this — or any others in general who listen to writers read – wasn’t it amazing to hear the differences in the voices of Robert Bly translating Kabir and Langston Hughes talking about how he became a poet? I’m often surprised by how a writer’s voice sounds when he or she reads. I think I get a mental hearing imprint of what they will sound like. It’s rarely accurate. Do you find that to be true?
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Yes, QM, I’ve called you more than once from the road. I remember calling you last spring after I had interviewed an old school marm in her filthy, train wreck of a house. When the plates fell out of the messy kitchen cupboard (and broke!) during the interview, the teacher’s daughter starting yelling in my direction: “She’s a bad omen! She’s a bad omen!” It was way too juicy not to share with another writer instantly. I was, in fact, dialing your phone number while I was driving down their mile-long in-drive. “QM! I’ve been called a bad omen! Check it out!”
One of my favorite Bly poems is: “Driving toward the Lac Qui Parle River.” It took me forever to learn how to *say* Lac Qui Parle (the name of a county and a river), and now I can’t say it enough. In the poem there is a line:”….Nearly to Milan, suddenly a small bridge, And water kneeling in the moonlight…” I went to see the bridge–a beautiful blue bridge in the middle of the prairie, surrounded by wheat fields. I sat there in the sun for an hour.
Just like Mark Twain pulled all those landmarks from Hannibal and the caves to write Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, so Bly pulls from his world to do the same. Sometimes, we’re lucky enough to see them.
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Oh, my gosh, I totally remember that conversation about the teacher and the bad omen. I couldn’t help but laugh while, at the same time, I was kind of concerned for your safety. 8) Did you ever write that part of the story up in any kind of formal way? Scary.
Okay, I’m going to show my ignorance now but how do you pronounce Lac Qui Parle River? Can you give phonetics? Seriously, I have no idea. I love that line — “And water kneeling in the moonlight” — now I want to read that poem you reference (#16).
I like that image of sitting in the sun for an hour in the middle of a wheat field surrounded by prairie. Liz has been working on a video that includes some footage she shot on her ancestral lands in North Dakota. And every time I look at it, I get such a peaceful feeling. I could have sat there for hours.
Hey, remember that guy in the Denver airport? You sat next to him on a plane? You’ve got some strange stories, you know it! I remember we were both traveling home from a Taos silent retreat. I was driving from Taos to Minneapolis (1200 miles); you were flying from ABQ to MSP.
It turned out I was driving by the Denver airport at the exact same time you were landing there for a layover. That’s when I got your VM about that strange man in the airport. 8) Chuckle.
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I haven’t written The Bad Omen story, but I keep it safely tucked in my mind. Trust me.
Lac Qui Parle = Lah-Kwah-Parl (rhymes with Karl)
Dakota for “lake that speaks”
Why? Lots of geese (lots of honking)
Driving Toward the Lac Qui Parle River by Robert Bly
I.
I am driving; it is dusk; Minnesota.
The stubble field catches the last growth of sun.
The soybeans are breathing on all sides.
Old men are sitting before their houses on car seats
In the small towns. I am happy.
The moon rising above the turkey sheds.
II.
The small world of the car
plunges through the deep fields of the night,
On the road from Willmar to Milan,
This solitude covered with iron
Moves through the fields of the night
Penetrated by the noise of crickets.
III.
Nearly to Milan, suddenly a small bridge,
And water kneeling in the moonlight.
In the small towns the houses are built right on the ground;
The lamplight falls on all fours on the grass.
When I reach the river, the full moon covers it.
A few people are talking low, in a boat.
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Teri, what a beautiful poem. From the heart of the lake that speaks.
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Mmmm, Teri, beautiful. Love that, too, lake that speaks (for the honking geese). 8)
What a fun thread of conversation in this post, which I’m returning to after a day with my head buried in work.
Thanks for the link on Hughes’ reading. Am looking forward to listening to his voice on rivers.
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What is it about rivers? Bly, Hughes, Twain…they all talk about rivers. Whenever I see one myself, I think they look full of possibility. Heading somewhere around a bend…maybe somewhere good.
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I was fascinated by “The Moose” story. Just now I asked my husband what he immediately thought of when I said “moose”. He said, “Sarah Palin”. And, of course, that was what I immediately thought of too as I read Ted Kooser’s account. And I suspect that most people I would ask for moose associations would also say “Sarah Palin”. The experience of the moose brought the individual people on the bus together as one. And I think in a similar way the experience of Sarah Palin brought many of us together as a “we”.
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QM, 30 years ago, when I attended what Minnesotans know as “the U”, I took a writing class taught by a surrealist named Alan Burns. (I have one of his books: “Europe After the Rains.” Post-WW2, and all characters are written in 3rd person pronouns. Yup. Everyone is “she” or “he” — it had an odd effect, like the story’s focus was always on the periphery of vision.)
Burns and had us watch a film about Bly and his leaving Minnesota to live in NYC; it was the first I learned of him.
I remember mostly Bly talking about how every person has the other gender inside, and him talking about exploring his female side.
It’s become common currency since, but it was new, to me at least, in 1978– and novel in that most of society then didn’t encourage gender ambivalence or self-discovery.
Very nice to see the note you got from him.
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I love to hear writers and poets read-reminds me of Taos. I’ll be thinking of you, Teri, Bob, QM, YB tonight as I listen to Michael Chabon read at the library here in Las Vegas. Teri, love to hear your stories of your travels.
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Franny,
I just saw Chabon’s new book at a local store a few days ago, though I can’t remember the title. I wonder if he’s on book tour and L.V. is one of his stops. I hope you’ll check in about him after the event.
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Frannie, thanks for the note. I had to refresh on some of the things written about Michael Chabon’s life. Amazing guy. He’s a good one for writers to read about, the way he has lived his life, his successes and failures.
I saw a quote on one site about the work of writing:
In 2000, Chabon told The New York Times that he kept a strict schedule, writing from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. each day, Sunday through Thursday. He tries to write 1,000 words a day. Commenting on the rigidity of his routine, Chabon said, “There have been plenty of self-destructive rebel-angel novelists over the years, but writing is about getting your work done and getting your work done every day. If you want to write novels, they take a long time, and they’re big, and they have a lot of words in them….The best environment, at least for me, is a very stable, structured kind of life.”
He’s had great success. He also spent, what was it, 5 years, on a novel, Fountain City, that he finally abandoned. As soon as he did, Wonder Boys came out. He talks about how it takes more courage to abandon what isn’t working, than it does to keep going on.
Here are some links for others who might want to read about Chabon:
Wrecked — about abandoning Fountain City (LINK)
Maps & Legends – a little about the history of his life (LINK)
Randon Dendrites – other tidbits he’s written (LINK)
Michael Chabon on Wikipedia — has a photograph of him and lots of great links (link)
Frannie, please do come back and let us know how it was and what you learned!
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Oh, Teri, I did run into a review of his new book, The Yiddish Policemen’s Union on Open Letters — A Monthly Arts & Literary Review. I don’t always put a lot of stock in book reviews, they are so subjective. This one is long but covers a lot of ground, most of Chabon’s books, and it looks at narrative structure, too.
The Evasionist by Sam Sacks on Open Letters (LINK)
Review of The Yiddish Policemen’s Union
By Michael Chabon
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Some great comments in this thread.
Teri, I don’t know what it is about rivers (#21) but they have powerful influence over writers, artists, and musicians. This morning, the song Many Rivers To Cross, original version by Jimmy Cliff, is going through my head. Now I want to hear his album.
Kathy Lubin, thanks for your comment (#22) and for visiting red Ravine. Somehow, I don’t think Ted Kooser had Sarah Palin in mind when he wrote his “moose” reference, but I do get your point! That moose comment from the campaign trail will probably live on forever. It was also immortalized in the rap lyrics on Saturday Night Live. This particular American Life In Poetry column was from the beginning of 2008, long before we had heard much about Sarah. Yet here we are at the end of the year, and something surely has come together!
Ben, thanks for the great comment about Bly (#23). I enjoyed reading what you had to say about him, from way back in 1978. And I didn’t know he had opened doors about gender exploration. It’s a great example of the ways writers can influence positive change in society. He seems like a wise man.
It was Teri that introduced me to Robert Bly. If I remember correctly, he was sitting in the Plymouth Congregational Church, right up front in a pew next to Mary Oliver when we went to see her a few years ago (see Mary Oliver — On Paying Attention (LINK). He’s got a Twainish shock of wonderful whitish gray hair. And he also showed up at another writer we saw at the downtown Minneapolis library. He really does mingle among the people.
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Chabon was wonderful. He read for an hour-an essay on how children no longer have times when they are not around adults. How when he was a kid, he played in these woods behind his house and acted out roles in the “wilderness.” Then he went off on a riff about Legos and how they used to be just squares and rectangles and you would make these approximations of things but now legos come in sets and colors—a violet Lego? And they come with instructions so that when you finish the elaborate structure you couldn’t possibly disassemble it. Anyway, it was clearly a writing practice.
The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, I guess, is a story about Israeli policemen who get displaced and end up in Alaska. He also has some essays out and a “warrior” story which I couldn’t get into. He seems to skip around from genre to genre. He said they find him. hmmmm. I feel a writing practice coming on—“the time when I was growing up when I was not around grownups…”
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Franny, thanks so much for coming back and updating us on hearing Michael Chabon read. That would be a great practice — time growing up not around grownups. It’s true. We spent so much time out playing, roaming the neighborhood with our friends. We did have boundaries we weren’t supposed to go past without asking. But they extended over 4 or 5 yards and the whole back woods behind out house.
It’s interesting about the “wilderness.” Those woods behind the house I grew up in are still undeveloped and my mother still lives there. In the last few years, they were going to start developing there but found a spider that ended up on the endangered list. So the woods behind her house are still safe.
I remember playing there. We used to sled, ride our mini-bikes. There was a huge hill and thick trees. I loved playing back there. I never thought about it, how kids might be around adults more today. Interesting about the Legos, too.
In one of those links on Chabon, I read that he was inspired to write one of his books when he ran into an old box of comic books from his childhood. He really does seem to move across genres easily.
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My friend Nat suggested I get Chabon’s book The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay; h3 read and studied the book in one of Natalie’s workshops. I put it on my list for Christmas last year, and Jim got it for me, but alas, I still haven’t read it.
Oh my, he is so right about how children are almost always with adults. My siblings and I were out on the street and ditches from morning to night when school was out. I think that’s how Mom survived. We wandered from one kid’s house to the other, then walked along the ditches to the TG&Y (we called it TGY) to buy candy, then went and rode Sylvia’s horse, etc etc. And as a teenager, my best friends and I would get dropped off six miles up the clear ditch and intertube all the way to our neighborhood. It took the whole day, and I doubt my parents ever worried about me.
Dee goes horseback riding on her own a lot, but we always make her take her cell phone. Yesterday Em and a friend played together all day outside with no supervision, walked to the Frontier Mart on their own. Afterwards I thought, That was reckless of me, but after reading this I realize, Nah, she was fine.
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I met Robert Bly in early October at the Minnesota Men’s Conference at Sturgeon Lake. My cousins Paul and Tim Frantzich (poetic and spirited–in many senses of the word–singer songwriters who perform regularly in Minneapolis) turned me on to him–and got me to go to the conference. Tim called Bly the Great One. I didn’t say no, but I didn’t say yes either. But by now I agree that great is a fair and accurate word. I’ve never had an anthology of poetry hit me as hard as did Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart. So many poems spoke right to my heart. Machado, I knew of, from Spanish classes. But I never had heard of Rumi, Hafez, Kabil, or Rilke. They’ve all just blown me away. So Bly deserves thanks for just focusing on these guys. Then there’s his essay about the wrong turn in English/American poetry? That helped clarify for me why this poetry moves me so—it’s interior and cleansing and heart work. Then there’s Bly’s poetry. Bly’s family farm is only about 30 miles from the farm in the township where my father was born. To me, Bly is like having a poet in the family. His poem about driving toward the Lac Qui Parle River from Willmar is right through that farm land. Then there’s Bly’s willingness to open himself up as he does in both his poetry and his prose. That’s a gift.
deMandt
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Dick, thank you for stopping by; such a thoughtful and rich comment. I saw it yesterday but have just now had a minute to respond.
I especially like what you mention about Bly keeping people like Rumi, Hafez, Kabil, or Rilke alive among those who might not ordinarily read them. I’m intrigued by your mention of the essay on the wrong turn in English/American poetry. I’ll have to check into that more.
I’m the only one home right now (except for the three cats) and I just paused to read Driving Toward the Lac Qui Parle River out loud to myself (Comment #18). It has an immediate and calming effect. It’s touching to read how that drive rolls right through the land where your father was born. Thanks again for your kind words about Robert Bly.
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ybonesy, it sounds so freeing that Em & Dee get to spend that much alone time outside. Do you think the world’s really changed that much since we were growing up? Or is it our perceptions of it (#31)? Are children really less safe? Though there is no doubt the world is moving faster than it was before, I always have those questions.
When I got back and read people from other generations talking about their worlds, and wars, and depressions, and hardships, they all think they live in times less savory than when they were growing up, too. Yeah, it’s always going to be a question.
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[…] this year, I thought I’d post these photographs of the antique Christmas lights mentioned in The Poet’s Letter — Robert Bly. It was at Poetry Group that night that our friend Teri shared a story about how her family […]
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[…] I see Craven’s euphoria about her visit with Stein much the way I feel when I go and hear Nikki Giovanni, Ann Patchett, Patricia Smith, Steve Almond, or Mary Oliver talk about their work and have a chance to shake their hands when they sign my books. Or when our Poetry and Meditation Group receives a card from Billy Collins, Gary Soto, or Robert Bly. […]
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Robert Bly has a poem in the January 25, 2010 New Yorker:
SUNDAY AFTERNOON by Robert Bly
The snow is falling, and the world is calm.
The flakes are light, but they cool the world
As they fall, and add to the calm of the house.
It’s Sunday afternoon. I am reading
Longinus while the Super Bowl is on.
The snow is falling, and the world is calm.
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Teri, thank you for leaving the Robert Bly poem on red Ravine. Beautiful. Reminds me that everything happens simultaneously. The calm, the frenzy, giving birth, aging, dying. All going on in parallel universes. I sure appreciated Poetry & Meditation Group tonight. It was a joy to hear Ruth Stone’s poetry read by the group. I love her poetry. And hearing her interview on MPR (or was it NPR?). So great to hear her voice.
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[…] Pocket Day), The Poet Writes Back — Gary Soto, Which Came First, The Grasshopper Or The Egg?, The Poet’s Letter — Robert Bly, Postcard From Billy Collins — Kicking Off National Poetry […]
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