Thursday, January 21st, 2010...9:45 am

mike koehler | translating robert bly

Jump to Comments

TRANSLATING ROBERT BLY

We start to burn
as we are born.

The barn boards
exhale wheat breath.

We are born knowing
all we need to get by.

The lake, half in shadow,
is a coffin or cave.

Living is an art but
Dying is a saxophone.

The horses in the dark field
will be us in their next life.

The gate in the fence swings open.
We are on the road we were meant for.

Stop by onehandarmands.blogspot.com and I ‘ll buy ya a cold one.

some related articles are listed below:

  1. mike koehler | oppenheimer’s children
  2. mike koehler | haiti
  3. mike koehler | god goes postal
  4. mike koehler | baby boomer’s lament
  5. michael koehler | i saw jack kerouac…
  6. michael koehler | the fall of baghdad
  7. robert creeley | please
  8. robert creeley | after lorca
  9. robert creeley | the dishonest mailmen
  10. robert creeley | the ballad of the despairing husband
  11. robert swearingen | street milk
  12. doug draime | robert johnson and the one available woman of horny blue
  13. dante ocariz | four poems
  14. mark weber | Em6
  15. doug draime | coltrane mowing the grass
  16. roger singer | more (jazz) poems
  17. mark weber | starch

Leave a Reply