I wonder what comes after death, death in life I mean, when one steps emotionally outside his own existence and stares from afar with cemented eyes at the futility of it all? Will one be able to return into the turmoil of existence again and find new raison d'etre at some point?
Still, I find one thing more puzzling than that. I wonder why occasionally, while reading a sad poem I feel rather joyous? It must be something profoundly wrong in this, isn’t it ? 🤔
That is a deep question. But I say no, it is not wrong to feel joy at reading a sad poem. Through this polarity of joy and sadness, we connect the Self together. Joy and sadness are merely stops along the way.
Wow.. Reality and mystery so strangely and beautifully interwoven here. Almost like a conductor of an orchestra he plays with imagery, words and emotions here, depicting the haunting of life, love and the human experience
"the one inside moves back, and the hands touch nothing,
and are safe."
Bly shows us what power remains in us when we feel trapped in our human entanglements. We always have the power to set our burden down and walk away. This could mean never calling our parents again. The son may have unburdened himself of having to love his parents by this act, but he also no longer has to feel the contempt and bitterness that goes along with the love. And the father learns that lesson from the son. That hill used to mean something, and it no longer does. The father pivots. One must imagine him happy, like Camus' Sisyphus. Bly can be trusted to give this lesson the grace and power it deserves. Which is difficult, because the name of the lesson is How To No Longer Give A Fuck.
Despite how haunting I find this, especially experiencing death in my own family, I always find this to be a beautiful read that I can't help coming back to. The way it starts out simple, just small differences in the relationship of the speaker that make clear to us things aren't as they are but it's possible to repair them. Then the build up as the relationships fall a part more and more until the final gut punch. Great poem by Robert bly.
As if my melancholia needed feeding… Yet here I am being grateful, thank you Robert Bly.
Beautiful and grievingly sad -- great poem from Robert Bly
I wonder what comes after death, death in life I mean, when one steps emotionally outside his own existence and stares from afar with cemented eyes at the futility of it all? Will one be able to return into the turmoil of existence again and find new raison d'etre at some point?
Still, I find one thing more puzzling than that. I wonder why occasionally, while reading a sad poem I feel rather joyous? It must be something profoundly wrong in this, isn’t it ? 🤔
That is a deep question. But I say no, it is not wrong to feel joy at reading a sad poem. Through this polarity of joy and sadness, we connect the Self together. Joy and sadness are merely stops along the way.
Thank you 🙏
When the core of being is touched, there is joy in feeling it.
Yes, perhaps that is the explanation. It makes sense. Thanks a lot
But .. its all so sad…😭😢🥺
Next a Positive Loving Poem. Thanks.
Cos thats what makes the world turn round❣️💥
Thanks for this poem by Bly - I hadn't read it for years but it is still powerful
suicide is painless.
except for those
left behind.
Great poem
Beautifully poignant and melancholic.
Wow.. Reality and mystery so strangely and beautifully interwoven here. Almost like a conductor of an orchestra he plays with imagery, words and emotions here, depicting the haunting of life, love and the human experience
"the one inside moves back, and the hands touch nothing,
and are safe."
Bly shows us what power remains in us when we feel trapped in our human entanglements. We always have the power to set our burden down and walk away. This could mean never calling our parents again. The son may have unburdened himself of having to love his parents by this act, but he also no longer has to feel the contempt and bitterness that goes along with the love. And the father learns that lesson from the son. That hill used to mean something, and it no longer does. The father pivots. One must imagine him happy, like Camus' Sisyphus. Bly can be trusted to give this lesson the grace and power it deserves. Which is difficult, because the name of the lesson is How To No Longer Give A Fuck.
Interesting interpretation. Good points. I saw the father one as a pure grief response. Many layered. Great poem.
Despite how haunting I find this, especially experiencing death in my own family, I always find this to be a beautiful read that I can't help coming back to. The way it starts out simple, just small differences in the relationship of the speaker that make clear to us things aren't as they are but it's possible to repair them. Then the build up as the relationships fall a part more and more until the final gut punch. Great poem by Robert bly.
phew the snow bank and the man stopped short
Heart wrenching…
so sad, so true
Sorry — I was traveling and missed this loveliness from Robert Bly.
This leaves me breathless. So spare and so rich. Thank you.