Robert Bly

The Blinding of Samson

Don’t you see them? They are coming to blind Samson!
But some of us don’t want the day to end!
If Samson goes blind, what will happen to the sea?

Isn’t it bad enough that the sun goes down
Each night, while children throw shoes at the moon?
I remember my mother’s grief at sunset.

Now I remember my father. I remember
Every father when he is wrestling with his son.
Oh Lord of the Four Quarters—he is destined to lose!

You gypsy singers, make some raw cries!
Call in the crows to fly over the plowed fields.
I want the beating palms to cry out for Samson.

I want rough voices and shouting women
To cry out against the blinding of Samson.
I will always cry—take away those knives!

Isn’t it enough that the Evening Star sets every night
And lovemaking ends at dawn. Please, God, help
The human beings, for men are coming to blind Samson.