Robert Bly, “Poem Against the British”


The wind through the box-elder trees
Is like rides at dusk on a white horse,
Wars for your country, and fighting the British.

I winder if Washington listened to the trees.
All morning I have been sitting in grass,
Higher than my eyes, beneath the trees,
And listening upward, to the wind in the leaves.
Suddenly I realize there is one thing more:
There is also the wind through the high grass.

There are palaces, boats, silence among white buildings,
Iced drinks on marble tops, among cool rooms;
It is good also to be poor, and listen to the wind.

From Silence in the Snowy Fields.
John Berryman, #313 of “The Dream Songs”
Robert Bly, “When We Became Lovers”

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