A Home in Dark Grass by Robert Bly
A Home in Dark Grass
Robert BlyIn the deep fall, the body awakes,
And we find lions on the seashore—
Nothing to fear.
The wind rises, the water is born,
Spreading white tomb-clothes on a rocky shore,
Drawing us up
From the bed of the land.We did not come to remain whole.
We came to lose our leaves like the trees,
The trees that are broken
And start again, drawing up on great roots;
Like mad poets captured by the Moors,
Men who live out
A second life.That we should learn of poverty and rags,
That we should taste the weed of Dillinger,
And swim in the sea,
Not always walking on dry land,
And, dancing, find in the trees a saviour,
A home in the dark grass,
And nourishment in death.
MARGINALIA
1.
Fretting again. Throwing clothes in my luggage again. Unearthing then refolding, then unearthing them again. Wondering which books to bring. Why I’m bringing them in the first place. What the hell am I doing, leaving again.
2.
I’m trying to find my home, maybe. Myself. And isn’t that the grandest and most pathetic cliché of all. But isn’t that what we are all doing anyway. Trying to see if our roots have dug deep here, or somewhere else.
3.
And if it’s somewhere else, aren’t we meant to find it?
ABOUT ROBERT BLY
Robert Bly was born on December 23, 1926, in Madison, Minnesota. He attended Harvard University and received his MA from the University of Iowa in 1956. As a poet, editor, and translator, Bly has had a profound impact on the shape of American poetry. Bly is the author of more than thirty books of poetry, including Stealing Sugar from the Castle: Selected Poems (W. W. Norton, 2013); Talking into the Ear of a Donkey: Poems (W. W. Norton, 2011); Reaching Out to the World: New and… (more)
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ENDNOTES
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Barbara Flaherty
What a sweet poem.
Barbara Flaherty
And a powerful comment to accompany it, or does the poem accompany the comment? No matter. It is all sweet.
T.
Thank you kindly, Barbara. I hope you find more poems in this space that will fill your heart.
T.