Love Poems or poems of ecstatic delight, they are like sunshine for the soul. I read a poem nearly every day . I have returned to works by Mary Oliver already a number of times this year as I love to touch the earth and her wisdom. For this February, I am working through Kabir: Ecstatic Poems by Kabir and Robert Bly.
Oh to drench oneself with the words of love and of the writer’s passion, which has survived since the 15th century, and then to have Bly create a more accessible text is just fulfilling.
I wanted to share several of his poems that have truly infused me with a celebration of love.
Friend, hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think…and think…while you are alive.
What you call ‘salvation’ belongs to the time before death.
If you don’t break your ropes while you’re alive,
Do you think
Ghosts will do it after?
The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
Just because the body is rotten –
That is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
You will simply end up with an apartment in the City of Death
If you make love with the divine now, in the next life
You will have the face of satisfied desire.
So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
Believe in the Great Sound!
Kabir says this: When the Guest is being searched for,
It is the intensity of the longing for the Guest that
Does all the work
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.
Robert Bly is an award winning poet, translator and writer. Bly has been a leader in the ‘expressive men’s movement’ and has been described as a change artist. Literary critic Charles Molesworth says of him, “writes religious meditations for a public that is no longer ostensibly religious.” Bly has a new book of poetry out in 2011 called: Talking Into the Ear of a Donkey.
I know the sound of the ecstatic flute,
But I don’t know whose flute it is.
A lamp burns and has neither wick nor oil.
A lily pad blossoms and is not attached to the bottom!
When one flower opens, ordinarily dozens open.
The moon bird’s head is filled with nothing but
Thoughts of the moon,
And when the next rain will come is all that the rain bird things of.
Who is it we spend our entire life loving?
So who is it we spend our whole life loving? What are we seeking? Who is the guest? Do you have a favorite poem? Love poem or quote?
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