Robert Bly

"When anyone seriously pursues an art — painting, poetry, sculpture, composing — over twenty or thirty years, the sustained discipline carries the artist down to the countryside of grief, and that descent, resisted so long proves invigorating. . . . As I've gotten older, I find I am able to be nourished more by sorrow and to distinguish it from depression."

— Robert Bly

American Poet

1926 - 

I first heard Robert Bly read poetry in 1969 while I was in college and I still own a copy of his very first book of poetry, Silence in the Snowy Fields, which I bought when he was in town and is autographed by him.  He was majestic, expansive and seemed to blow the roof off the auditorium.  I fell in love with the poetry I read in that small sixty-page book, published by Wesleyan University Press, full of images of the midwest where I was born and raised.  Years later I had another opportunity to hear Bly read and I bought a collection of his prose poems, Morning Glory.  I own a number of his poetry books and his books of translated poems.  I even bought the book that made him rich and famous, Iron John, a non-fiction book I have never been able to finish reading.  

Here is a short poem that I love.  The last two lines have the feel of Japanese haiku.

Watering the Horse

How strange to think of giving up all ambition!

Suddenly I see with such clear eyes

The white flake of snow

That has just fallen in the horse's mane!

Here is another favorite poem of mine from his first collection.  This poem evokes the feeling of the rural countryside in which I grew up.  Anyone who grew up in the rural midwest will immediately feel at home.

Three Kinds of Pleasure

        

                   I

Sometimes, riding in a car, in Wisconsin

Or Illinois, you notice those dark telephone poles

One by one lift themselves out of the fence line

And slowly leap on the gray sky —

And past them, the snowy fields.

                   II

The darkness drifts down like snow on the picked cornfields

In Wisconsin:  and on these black trees

Scattered, one by one,

Through the winter fields —

We see stiff weeds and brownish stubble,

And white snow left now only in the wheeltracks of the combine.

                  III

It is a pleasure, also, to be driving

Toward Chicago, near dark,

And see the lights in the barns.

The bare trees more dignified than ever,

Like a fierce man on his deathbed,

And the ditches along the road half full of a private snow.

Margaret Atwood

"Perhaps I write for no one.  Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow."

— Margaret Atwood

Canadian Novelist, Poet

1939 - 

Have you written your name in the snow?  Have you carved your name on a tree?  Have you scratched your name on the sidewalk?  Have you painted your name in the heavens?  Most of us want the world to know who we are.  And on one level that is why we paint, write and sing.  So that 100 years, 500 years, even 1000 years from now someone knows our name.  We want to leave a legacy of work.  We want to be remembered. 

I have read of writers, artists and actors who were famous while they were alive but forgotten within 20 years of their death.  I have also read of people who were unknown in their lifetime, but remembered hundreds of years after their death.  Vincent Van Gogh is a perfect example.  He died believing he was a failure and had only sold one painting in his lifetime.  More than a hundred years after his death, he is one of the most celebrated artists in the world.

Let me ask you a question.  If you had to choose between fame and fortune in your lifetime or having your creative work celebrated a thousand years from now, which would you choose? 

Henry Moore

"The observation of nature is part of an artist's life."

— Henry Moore

English Sculptor

1898 - 1986

How much is your art connected to nature?  Do you spend time observing the shapes and patterns within nature?  Do you study nature and learn from it?  

When I spent seven years writing and studying haiku, I spent time connecting with the physical world around me — listening to nature.  I would take walks and write haiku.  Even those of us who live in cities are a part of nature.  Here is a haiku that I wrote while walking around Chicago.

downtown Chicago

     a squirrel buries apples —

          warm autumn sun

As creative leaders, we must look for inspiration in nature whether we write novels, paint abstract paintings or compose music.  Nature has much to teach us about ourselves and the world in which we live.  Watch the rabbits playing in your backyard.  Enjoy the beauty of a sunset.  Take a walk and feel the snowflakes on your cheeks.

Oval With Points
(1968 - 1970)

Alice Mackenzie Swaim

"Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow."

— Alice Mackenzie Swaim

1912 - 1996

Strength often comes from unexpected places.  We sometimes misjudge people when we only look at the outside.  Inside is what counts.  As artists, writers and storytellers, we must look deep inside and see the truth beneath the surface.  We must find the courage to tell our story in words and images.