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“When I Was Twenty-Six” by Robert Bly 🇺🇸 (23 Dec 1926 – 21 Nov 2021)
Why God allowed Montserrat to fall
Is not explained, nor why the Queen of Cattle
Drove my one calf into the slaughterhouse.
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Of course my poems are sad. How else could they be?
The judge and the criminal live in my own house.
I am constantly coming upon secret court proceedings.
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Why can we achieve organization only in wartime?
I want to know why so many plays of Sophocles were lost,
And why God becomes an ox and eats the grass each night.
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When I was twenty-six, the words that fed me were killed
Along with the vowels that joined me to others;
And the calf of language was cut up and thrown into the ditch.
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My small talent was trapped under the water,
And the lungs I breathed with were filled with lies.
If I had been human, it would have been worse.
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That is what Separation is like: I know it now.
I had only will to keep my lungs from filling with water.
I was unfaithful even to Infidelity.