The temples are the links to lead us through our past (Mike Pinder)

Photo by John Moeses Bauan
on Unsplash

Wie geht's?

Robert Bly's summary of the Wild Man's qualities in Iron John rang a bell with me.

The Wild Man's qualities, among them love of spontaneity, association with wilderness, honoring of grief, and respect for riskiness, frightens many people. Some men, as soon as they receive the first impulses to riskiness and recognize its link with what we've called the Wild Man, become frightened, stop all wildness, and recommend timidity and collective behavior to others. Some of these men become high school principals, some sociologists, some businessmen, Protestant ministers, bureaucrats, therapists; some become poets and artists.

Risk involves the possibility of failure but failure is good. The Wild Man path involves 'intensity, awareness of the wound, alertness to impulse, the possibility of a fall'.

It's good for former high school principals to keep that in mind.

Love and peace - Wozza

Love and marriage, love and marriage: go together like a horse and carriage (Frank Sinatra)

Wie geht's?

Robert Bly on marriage:

In marriage, there can be boundaries, and valid
points of view on each side of the boundary. They don't have to merge into one view.

This seems a no-brainer to me. Although couples merge in many ways, each person in a marriage is distinct. When I think about my parents' marriage, they merge as 'Dulcie and Graham'. 

However, they were two distinct people with clear differences in background, personality, interests, and characteristics. By the same token, they are forever united in my brain as one unit with the same core values and the same approach to parenting.

I tend to see my own marriage in the same way. We merge as 'Warren and Jacky' - but we are also a unit with the same core values. That said, we still each have valid points of view on each side of the boundary.

I think that view also holds up for the marriages of our friends and whanau.

Love and peace - Wozza

Iron John

Wie geht's?

I'm re-reading Robert Bly's Iron John (A Book About Men) so things from that will naturally filter onto my blogs as I go.

I was taken by this statement early in chapter 1 (The pillow and the key): 

The possessiveness that mothers typically exercise on sons - not to mention the possessiveness that fathers typically exercise on daughters - can never be underestimated.

Possessiveness. Interesting.

I've just finished reading Earth To Moon by Moon Unit Zappa. Frank Zappa had an extremely complicated relationship with his four children. He and his wife Gail had two sons, two daughters (as I do). It's a peculiar possessiveness exercised by Frank, and Moon has spent a lifetime (and her book) trying to figure it out.

I spent Sunday grading my Year 13 students work analysing One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest from a Freudian perspective. They came up with some great insights as they speculated on the relationships the characters had with their parents.

Mothers and sons. Fathers and daughters.

Fascinating. 

Love and peace - Wozza

My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums, should I leave them at your gate, or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

In this world that’s drowning in data, abstract written thought that represents a synthesis or a culmination of information into a digestible form is in short supply. That’s always been the prescription for poetry that matters.

I like this - it's from a post by a guy called Larry Sawyer. No, I don't know who he is either - probably like me, he enjoys the outlet of the blog. Larry uses his blog to publish his poetry. He's on the left if you want to read his stuff (under the blog title Me-Tronome). This post isn't about Larry though, or me. It's about poetry generally and Robert Bly in particular.

We are drowning in data aren't we. At school I look at data daily - suspension/ discipline data, achievement data, attendance data...and on and on. My English class teaching time is often the best part of my day. I can stretch myself a bit and think about things via that abstract written thought stuff Larry's on about.

I often think about poetry. moods and thoughts from all sorts of sources. Song lyrics make up a lot of thoughts. This post is titled from a Dylan song - Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands. A love poem set to music for his wife Sara. Another example? I watched a movie today called Snow Cakes. Set in Canada the main character says he's on his way to Winnipeg and I immediately have the Neil Young lines in my head from his song Don't Be Denied -

When I was a young boy,
My mama said to me
Your daddy's leavin' home today,
I think he's gone to stay.
We packed up all our bags
And drove out to Winnipeg.

And so to Robert Bly. I often think about lines from his poem 'Six Winter Privacy Poems'.

1
About four, a few flakes.
I empty the teapot out in the snow,
feeling shoots of joy in the new cold.
By nightfall, wind,
the
curtains on the south sway softly.

2
My shack has two rooms, I use
one.
The lamplight falls on 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
in a wet field, snow falling.

3
More of the fathers are dying
each day.
It is time for the sons.
Bits of darkness are gathering around
them.
The darkness appears as flakes of light.

4
Sitting
Alone

There is a solitude like black mud!
Sitting in the
darkness singing,
I can't tell if this joy
is from the body, or the
soul, or a third place.

5
Listening to Bach

There
is someone inside this music
who is not well described by the names
of
Jesus, or Jehovah, or the Lord of Hosts!

6
When I woke, new snow had
fallen.
I am alone, yet someone else is with me,
drinking coffee,
looking out at the new snow.

Many of Bly's recurring images/phrases/words are here - rebirth, snow, darkness, solitude, light...But, for me, the synthesis is pretty perfect in this poem. I love the simplicity of lines lines like, 'About four, a few flakes' and the Thoreau like idea of his shack having the luxury of two rooms but he only ever is in one!

This one also resonates for me:

After Long Busyness

I start out for a walk at last after weeks
at the desk.
Moon gone, plowing underfoot, no stars; not a trace of
light!
Suppose a horse were galloping toward me in this open field?
Every day I
did not spend in solitude was wasted.

It's almost haiku like. Again the simplicity and clarity of expression make him
stand out for me. Did I mention haikus? Ok - so, here's one of mine to
finish
off this post:

The door is half closed,
dividing the dark and light,
'till morning comes again.

Love and peace and solitude - W