Minnesota poet Robert Bly performs reading about winter during intermission of Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra broadcast of Baroque Series Concert V.

Transcript:

(00:00:02) For many Americans this year's severe winter weather has been a distasteful. Novelty parts of the nation. Haven't been hit so hard by snow and cold within living memory. Minnesota hasn't been spared its portion of either but here such goings-on of the norm and the relatively mild winters of recent years a mere aberration winter is an ineluctable dimension of life here a tyrannical force not to be defeated, but Who's oppression can be lightened by a variety of stratagems winters harshness has been amply documented by the media in recent weeks, but another look at winter a peculiarly northern one will be provided during the next several minutes by a distinguished Minnesotan the poet Robert Bly who recently visited our Studios to read some of his winter
(00:00:54) poetry. I'll begin with the four lines by Wallace Stevens from Hartford or marvelous poem on the end of summer here the first lines. Tonight they were only the Winter Stars the sky is no longer a junk Shop full of javelins and old Fireballs triangles and the names of
(00:01:19) girls.
(00:01:22) I'll do a poem called snowfall in the afternoon. Which is really about the day in November when the snow begins to fall for the first time and if you have long grass, if you don't cut your lawn, it makes wonderful little houses. snowfall in the afternoon The grass is half covered with
(00:01:50) snow.
(00:01:53) It was a sort of snowfall that starts in late afternoon. And now the little houses of the grass are growing
(00:02:03) dark
(00:02:07) if I reach my hands down. Near the earth. I could take handfuls of Darkness. A Darkness was always there which we never noticed. As the snow grows heavier. the corn stalks head farther away and the barn moves nearer to the house the barn moves all alone in the growing
(00:02:42) storm.
(00:02:48) The barn is full of corn. And moving toward us now. Like a Hulk blown toward us in the storm at sea. all the sailors on Deck have been blind. for many
(00:03:09) years
(00:03:20) I read a poem called snowbanks north of the house. Which Begin by noticing how the snow will drive down with the Wind on the way from Alaska and then somehow stops six feet from the north side of the house and I noticed that since I was a boy. Those grade sweeps of snow then stopped suddenly six feet from the house. thoughts that go so far The boy gets out of high school and reads no more books. The sun stops calling home. The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no more bread. And the wife looks at her husband one night at a party and loves him no more. And the energy leaves the wine and the minister Falls leaving the church. It will not come closer. And the one inside moves back in the hands touch
(00:04:22) nothing and are safe.
(00:04:26) And the father Grieves for his son and will not leave the room where the coffin stands he turns away from his wife and she sleeps alone in the sea lifts and falls all night and the moon goes on through the unattached heavens alone. In the toe of the shoe pivots in the dust and the Man in the black coat turned and goes back down the hill. No one knows why he came or why he turned away and did not climb the hill. how to read a poem called winter
(00:05:24) seclusion
(00:05:27) began with a little poem by shows in front of it Marshall I was melted fall and
(00:05:33) winter was a
(00:05:34) time to begin
(00:05:35) meditation he wrote.
(00:05:38) Winters occlusion In my body, I feel deep longing for my small three-and-a-half
(00:05:46) mailroom.
(00:05:50) This poem is called winter seclusion. I was born during the night sea Journey. I love the whale with his warm organ pipes in the mouse killing water. I love The Men Who drift asleep for three nights in octopus Waters men in the fur gather wood piling the chunks by wall. I love the snow. I need privacy as I move. I'm all alone. floating in the cooking pot and the sea through the night. I am alone. For the first time in months. I love the dark. a joy Pierce's into me
(00:06:52) It
(00:06:52) arrived like a runner a radio signal from inside the tree trunk. a smile spreads over the face the eyes fall Who is it that visits us from beneath the
(00:07:15) snow
(00:07:18) something Shining? far down in the ice deep in the mountain the sleeper is glad. men with large
(00:07:36) shoulders
(00:07:38) covered with fur eyes closed inexplicable How do a poem called six Mentor privacy poems? For a while. I hit a shank about 40 miles away who I used to drive and do some writing and
(00:08:06) this is one of the poems I wrote. there
(00:08:22) shakes Winter by busy poems one about for a few flakes I emptied the teapot out in the snow. Feeling shoots have joy in the new cold. by Nightfall wind the curtains on the south swaying Softly my shack has two rooms. I use one the Lamplight Falls in my chair and table. And I fly into one of my own poems. I can't tell you where as if I appeared where I am now. You know Aunt field. snow
(00:09:16) falling
(00:09:24) more of the fathers are dying each day. It's time for the sons and the daughters. Bits of Darkness are gathering around him. And the Darkness appears as
(00:09:41) flakes of light
(00:09:47) little poem on meditation. There's 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 plea little poem called listening to
(00:10:14) Bach
(00:10:18) inside this music There is someone. Who is not well described? by the names of Jesus
(00:10:33) or
(00:10:35) Jehovah or the Lord of hosts the last little
(00:10:44) poem
(00:10:48) when I awoke new snow had fallen I am alone. He had someone else. Is with me.
(00:11:03) Drinking coffee
(00:11:06) looking out. at the snow
(00:11:29) those winter poems by Robert Bly were read by the author who accompanied himself on the dulcimer. Mr. Bligh journeyed from his home in Moose Lake Minnesota to our Saint Paul Studios earlier this year appropriately enough. The day was extremely cold.