I have been reading Robert Bly's new book lately, Talking into the Ear of a Donkey and enjoying it very much. But I also found an old copy of Sleepers Joining Hands recently, first published in 1973, and enjoying it too. Here is a portion of "Six Winter Privacy Poems" that I found particularly striking:
4
Sitting Alone
There is a solitude like black mud!
Sitting in this darkness singing,
I can't tell if this joy
is from the body, or the soul, or a third place.
4
Sitting Alone
There is a solitude like black mud!
Sitting in this darkness singing,
I can't tell if this joy
is from the body, or the soul, or a third place.
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