"One day while studying a Yeats poem I decided to write poetry the rest of my life recognized that a single short poem has room for history, music, psychology, religious thought, mood, occult speculation, character, and events of one's own life." Robert Bly
The Call Away
by Robert Bly
A cold wind flows over the cornfields;
Fleets of blackbirds ride that ocean.
I want to be out of here, go out,
Outdoors, anywhere in wind.
My back against a shed wall, I settle
Down where no one can find me.
I stare out at the box-elder leaves
Moving frond-like in that mysterious water.
What is it that I want? Not money,
Not a large desk, not a house with ten rooms.
This is what I want to do: to sit here,
To take no part, to be called away by wind.
I want to go the new way, build a shack
With one door, sit against the door frame.
After twenty years, you will see on my face
The same expression you see in the grass.
from Like the New Moon, I Will Live My Life. Copyright 2015 by Robert Bly.
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