Robert Bly works hard. That should say it all, but I know you say: "I need more." In this collection of poems (and a single prose piece), Bly opens a world of the inner body, exposing it to the light of the reader, and exposing the reader to the harsh light of artistic lie/truth. This is Mother Earth, Earth Goddess, Woman Who Roars/Balances... Just a couple of his lines: As soon as the President finishes his press conference,black wings carry off the words, bits of flesh still clinging to them. The ministers lie, the professors lie, the television lies,the priests lie.... These lies mean that the country wants to die. Lie after lie starts out into the prairie grass, like enormous caravans of Conestoga wagons....
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