Please help us with only $3500 left to Raise.
We are looking to push across the goal line. Join our supporters and be part of the effort before time runs out. If we would get fifty men to contribute we would almost certainly reach our goal. Even the smallest donation helps us get there. I am reminded of the Robert Bly poem “Fifty Males Sitting Together”.
Please help us fill these chairs. Poems Follows below…
Fifty Males Sitting Together
After a long walk in the woods clear cut for lumber,
lit up by a few young pines,
I turn home,
drawn to water. A coffinlike band
softens half the lake,
draws the shadow
down from westward hills.
It is a massive
fifty males sitting together
in hall or crowded room,
lifting something indistinct up into the resonating night.
Sunlight kindles the water still free of shadow,
kindles it till it glows with the high
pink of wounds.
Reeds stand about in groups
unevenly as if they might
to the sky all together!
the band near shore.
Each reed has its own thin
thread of darkness inside;
it is relaxed and rooted in the black
mud and snail shells under the sand.
The woman stays in the kitchen, and does not want
to waste fuel by lighting a lamp,
as she waits
for the drunk husband to come home.
Then she serves him
food in silence.
What does the son do?
He turns away,
goes outdoors to feed with wild
things, lives among dens
and huts, eats distance and silence;
he grows long wings, enters the spiral, ascends.
How far he is from working men when he is done!
From all men! The males singing
chant far out
on the water grounded in downward shadow.
He cannot go there because
he has not grieved
as humans grieve. If someone’s
head was cut
off, whose was it?
The father’s? Or the mother’s? Or his?
The dark comes down slowly, the way
snow falls, or herds pass a cave mouth.
I look up at the other shore; it is night.