And The Ravens Fly Towards Us
The UnDeceiving, (Part Five)
Whenever Robert Bly was bored he’d certainly let you know about it. I once saw him being interviewed at a men’s conference and the questions were becoming overly reverential and unimaginative. He reached out to a vase of tulips and started to cram them into his mouth, whilst continuing to respond. It was a way he kept the wild man alive in both him and the room at that rather leaden moment. This often upset people, and he didn’t seem overly troubled.
Years later I was weaving through traffic in Notting Hill Gate, taking him to be reunited with a Sufi spiritual teacher. Bly was singing ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light’ by Meatloaf to his wife Ruth in the back, and she was singing back. He rolled down a window so passers-by could feel the benefit. And this from a man with a significant strand of introversion. As I struggled to find somewhere to park in the mind-melting August heat, Bly bellowed over the radio, “Always wear your shadow like a cloak!”, and then demanded I pull up on the pavement to let he and his wife out. Toddlers scattered, hipsters spilt their mochas, traffic wardens from all directions appeared, gleeful at the aberration and waving their ticket books. He barked out the window like a carrion bird.