AS A PUBLISHED POET, you might expect me to read a lot of poetry. I confess that I don’t. I should, because through reading and studying others who practice our crafts, we learn.
So I determined, upon hearing of the death of renowned Minnesota poet Robert Bly on November 21, that I would read more of his poetry. I’ve checked out every Bly book available at my local library: What Have I Ever Lost By Dying?, Talking into the Ear of a Donkey and Stealing Sugar from the Castle.
Interesting titles reveal likewise interesting poems crafted by an especially gifted writer.
As I began to read Bly’s poems, I noticed the brevity. As any poet understands, each word in a poem must count. Bly seems especially adept at that. Poetry is perhaps the most difficult of writing genres.
I also see the influence of his upbringing on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. His roots are in Madison, near the South Dakota border. This small farming community is the self-proclaimed Lutefisk Capital of the US and home to a 25-foot-long fiberglass cod fish statue. Lutefisk is cod soaked in lye and a food of Norwegian heritage.
In Bly’s poetic voice, I hear rural reflected. From land to sky. Heritage strong. Faith interwoven. Solid work ethic. Agriculture defining small towns and occupations, threading through daily life. Bly writes with an awareness of his rural-ness, with a deep sense of place. I understand that given my roots on a southwestern Minnesota farm.
Yet, Bly’s writing isn’t defined solely by place. His world expanded when he joined the Navy after high school graduation, then attended St. Olaf College in Northfield for a year before transferring to Harvard. He pursued additional degrees. He was a prolific writer. A poet. An essayist. An activist.
While watching a public television documentary on Bly last week, I learned more about his activism. During the Vietnam War. In writing about men. He authored Iron John: A Book About Men, which remained on the New York Times Best Sellers List for 62 weeks. Sixty-two weeks. That’s saying something about Bly’s influence.
He also translated the works of others, including Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Voices. It’s a slim volume of nine poems with a title poem. And I have a copy of that beautiful hardcover book, purchased several years back at a used book sale in Faribault. Mine is number 14 of 50 limited first edition copies published in 1977 by The Ally Press and autographed by Robert Bly. Now, upon the poet’s death, this collection holds even more significance. More value.
Though Bly has passed at the age of 94, his legacy as a writer will endure. He scored many awards and accolades throughout his writing career. But I sense, even with that success, it was the craft of writing, the ability to pursue his passion for the written word, which he valued the most. That, too, I understand. For to write is to breathe.
FYI: To read another take on Bly, I direct you to gifted writer and poet Kathleen Cassen Mickelson, who blogs at One Minnesota Writer. She reflected on Bly in a post titled “Remembering Robert Bly.”
© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
I will also mention Kathleen!
Although I haven’t read Bly I am inspired to read him now due to your tribute to his work.
I am honored that I inspired you to read Bly’s writing. As for Kathleen, she’s an incredibly gifted writer and an all-around beautiful soul.
I have not heard of him so now I am intrigued. What a legacy he has left behind. Eternal words for all to read.
You’ll have to add Robert Bly to your reading list.
I hope to follow your lead and check out some of Bly’s work because I was not familiar with him, in spite of all his achievements. Like you, I don’t read much poetry. You and Bly have in common the rural background and deep sense of place. How wonderful to have the First Edition. Thanks for sharing a few lines of Bly’s genius.
Also, congrats on publication of your poem, “Pandemic Ears,” and your creative nonfiction, “Movie Money,” in The Talking Stick 30 Reclaiming Life. Double congrats on earning honorable mention in creative nonfiction. Well done on both.
Thank you, Audrey. Congratulations on your work in latest The Talking Stick. We were thinking alike on the pandemic, you with ponytails, me with ears. Your Minnesota Mardi Gras piece was touching and came from the heart.
I thought the same, that we were thinking alike. Yes, my Minnesota Mardi Gras piece came from my heart. And my heart is hurting right now as my mom’s health is rapidly declining. I hope to see her on Saturday. I need to. It’s been too long, because of COVID…
Such a CREATIVE – thanks so much for sharing about him and his works. I strongly believe animals are the keepers of all that we share with them, so “Talking Into the Ear of a Donkey” resonates with me. Happy Reading – Happy Day – Enjoy 🙂
Animals definitely listen without judgement. And they can be such a comfort. Oh, how I loved the newborn calves when I lived on the farm.
I enjoyed reading about Robert Bly. I liked his words about “Would you do that again?”
I hope to check out more of his work too.
Thank you, Valerie. I’m glad I’m prompting you to read Robert Bly’s poetry.
Oh my goodness! I heard from Paula via email about this post and popped in this morning to read it. I’m so glad you found some Robert Bly books at your local library and what a gift that you have that little Rilke volume he translated. This is a lovely tribute to him. I adore his plain language that moves with such grace. And thank you so much for suggesting your readers check out my own post. I appreciate that. I hope Bly inspires your own future poetry.
You are welcome, Kathleen. I loved your tribute on Bly, from someone who has actually heard him. It’s stories like yours which really resonate with me.