The Great Society

By Robert Bly b. 1926 Robert Bly

Dentists continue to water their lawns even in the rain:

Hands developed with terrible labor by apes

Hang from the sleeves of evangelists;

There are murdered kings in the light-bulbs outside movie theaters:

The coffins of the poor are hibernating in piles of new tires.

The janitor sits troubled by the boiler,

And the hotel keeper shuffles the cards of insanity.

The President dreams of invading Cuba.

Bushes are growing over the outdoor grills,

Vines over the yachts and the leather seats.

The city broods over ash cans and darkening mortar.

On the far shore, at Coney Island, dark children

Playing on the chilling beach: a sprig of black seaweed,

Shells, a skyful of birds,

While the mayor sits with his head in his hands.

Source: The Light Around the Body (HarperCollins Publishers Inc, 1966)

Biography

Since the 1960s, Robert Bly has written poetry that is nonacademic, based in the natural world, the visionary, and the realm of the irrational. As a poet, editor and translator, Bly has profoundly affected American verse, introducing many unknown European and South American poets to new readers. In addition to his poetic endeavors, he has gained attention for his theories on the roots of social problems, and his efforts to help . . .

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