Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems of William Stafford

by William Stafford, Kim Stafford (Editor)

"In our time there has been no poet who revived human hearts and spirits more convincingly than William Stafford.” —Naomi Shihab Nye

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life.
     —from Ask Me

In celebration of the poet’s centennial, Ask Me collects one hundred of William Stafford’s essential poems. As a conscientious objector during World War II, while assigned to Civilian Public Service camps Stafford began his daily writing practice, a lifelong early-morning ritual of witness. His poetry reveals the consequences of violence, the daily necessity of moral decisions, and the bounty of art. Selected and with a note by Kim Stafford, Ask Me presents the best from a profound and original American voice.

Genres: Poetry, Nonfiction

109 pages, Paperback

First published January 7, 2014

About the author

William Edgar Stafford was an American poet and pacifist, and the father of poet and essayist Kim Stafford. He and his writings are sometimes identified with the Pacific Northwest.

In 1970, he was named Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, a position that is now known as Poet Laureate. In 1975, he was named Poet Laureate of Oregon; his tenure in the position lasted until 1990. In 1980, he retired from Lewis & Clark College but continued to travel extensively and give public readings of his poetry. In 1992, he won the Western States Book Award for lifetime achievement in poetry.


Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William...

Reviews

[Fergus, Weaver of Autistic Webs · Rating 5 out of 5]

I WAKE TO SLEEP
AND TAKE MY WAKING SLOW.
- Theodore Roethke

Here’s an often-overlooked author who wakened every morning only to recommence his dreaming...

I’ve attached some of his writings, ones that spoke to me. Kindle Notes, however, doesn’t allow me to display lines of poetry as they appear in the book. But you’ll get the drift of his beautiful writing!
***

My early years were so much like yours, Mr. Stafford. They were a Dream often punctuated by sudden nightmares.

But your dreams were recognized in your title as American Poet Laureate. A great honour.

But even now, everyday dream-waking life is a lot like that for so many of us. Our dreams are the lull of our daily routine - the newspaper at the door, friends waving as they go by - then we sit down and open our papers.

And then the nightmares begin. So Roethke and Stafford are right. Dreams do rule our lives...

Thank you so much, Mr. Stafford, for your incredible gift.

It tormented you, and twisted your sensitive sinews into torturous convolutions. You saw the nightmares hidden in the ordinary. But you wrote anyway.

And you shared your secrets with us.

While all the others skidaddled as soon as the grisly Minotaur appeared, you stood tall and didn’t cringe. You didn’t candy-coat it all. Because you were only half-awake, but still sensitive.

Where are you now, in our streetwise, canny, insensitive age?

You knew how to press on those touchy nerve endings of ours. The Pharisee in us all wanted to straighten its spine, toughen up its suddenly maudlin attitude - and send your poems packing off to the thrift store!

But the brave - and the foolhardy - among us will always return to you, like a forgotten memory of an ever-the-same (for each of us) springtime of the soul that was laced with faint traces of arsenic...

Just like you said:

Now I remember: in our town the druggist
Prescribed Coca-Cola mostly, in tapered
Glasses to us, and to the elevator
Man in a paper cup, so he could
Drink it elsewhere because he was black.

And now I remember The Legion - gambling
In the back room, and no women but girls, old boys
Who ran the town. They were generous,
To their sons or the sons of friends,
And of course I was almost one.

I remember winter light closing
Its great blue fist slowly eastward
Along the street, and the dark then, deep
As war, arched over a radio show
Called the thirties in the great old U.S.A.

Look down, stars - I was almost
One of the boys. My mother was folding
Her handkerchief; the library seethed and sparked;
Right and wrong arced; and carefully
I walked with my cup toward the elevator man.

´Almost one of the boys’...

Like me. Almost. But never quite.

Thank Everything that’s Right and Good!

GET THIS WONDERFUL BOOK! You’re not going to find a more heartrendingly beautiful account of those murky places we’ve all survived in our lives -

And somehow PREVAILED, by the Grace of God.

[Vishy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have always been a huge fan of American poetry. The reason for that - the long scenic route version - is this. American prose writers have always strived to be accessible to the general reader. What this meant was this - American writers have always tried using language that could be understood by a normal person, avoiding complex words, long sentences and long philosophical ruminations. Instead they have focussed on short sentences, everyday words, plot, character building, great dialogue. This is how American fiction writers worked for decades. There were exceptions, of course, and these days things seem to be changing, but to make things intelligible for the largest number of readers was always the goal. American poets had very similar aims - to bring poetry to the largest group of readers. So, American poets wrote on themes that readers could identify with, and used everyday vocabulary to compose their poems. No complex words, no references to Greek or Roman mythology or some ancient civilizations, no vague sentences where we can understand the meaning of individual words, but we can't understand the meaning of the sentence. But poems, by nature, demand the presence of beauty - beauty in thought, beauty in ideas, beauty in feelings, beauty in words. Because of this, American poets composed poems on accessible themes, using everyday words and sentences, which were also poetic and beautiful. For example, read this poem called 'Separation' by W.S.Merwin.

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Simple words, simple language, identifiable theme, but incredibly beautiful, isn't it? American poets did this again and again - create beauty with everyday words and simple ideas - that I fell in love with them. So, when one of my favourite friends sent me the poetry collection 'Ask Me' by William Stafford, I was very excited. I haven't heard of William Stafford before and so I couldn't wait to read his poems.

This book has a selection of one hundred poems by William Stafford, selected by his son Kim Stafford. It doesn't seem to be necessarily organized by theme, but I found that sometimes poems which are next to each other are on a similar theme like war (or anti-war rather), nature etc. There is an introduction at the beginning of the book by Kim Stafford which is very beautiful.

On the poems in the book, there is nothing much to say, other than the fact that I loved them. I loved every one of them and I loved the whole book. Of course, I loved some poems more than others. William Stafford is now my newest favourite poet and I am so happy about that. With respect to poetry, I am a firm believer in the old adage, 'the proof of the pudding is in the eating it'. So, instead of writing about what I think about Stafford's poems, I will share some of my favourites here. You can read them yourself and make up your mind on whether you like them or not.

The Way It Is

There's a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

The Little Ways That Encourage Good Fortune

Wisdom is having things right in your life
and knowing why.
If you do not have things right in your life
you will be overwhelmed :
you may be heroic, but you will not be wise.
If you have things right in your life
but do not know why,
you are just lucky, and you will not move
in the little ways that encourage good fortune.

The saddest are those not right in their lives
who are acting to make things right for others:
they act only from the self —
and that self will never be right:
no luck, no help, no wisdom.

Passing Remark

In scenery I like flat country.
In life I don't like much to happen.

In personalities I like mild colorless people.
And in colors I prefer gray and brown.

My wife, a vivid girl from the mountains,
says, "Then why did you choose me?"

Mildly I lower my brown eyes —
there are so many things admirable people do not understand.

Any Morning

Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.

People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.

Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won't even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.

Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.

I loved William Stafford's 'Ask Me'. It is one of my favourite poetry collections ever. I can't wait to read more poems by him.

Have you read William Stafford's 'Ask Me' or other poems by him? What do you think of his poems? Did you like the above poems?

[Ron · Rating 5 out of 5]

I decided to read 10 of these poems each morning over the last 10 days. Great discoveries every day, and made me want to do a deeper dive into Stafford. Here's a favorite:

"Why I Am Happy"

Now has come, an easy time. I let it
roll. There is a lake somewhere
so blue and far nobody owns it.
A wind comes by and a willow listens
gracefully.

I hear all this, every summer. I laugh
and cry for every turn of the world,
its terribly cold, innocent spin.
That lake stays blue and free; it goes
on and on.

And I know where it is.

-- William Stafford

[Chris · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had to jot down many phrases and entire poems in my notebook whilst reading this, and I've already made an art journal page for some of them...

[Debbie Robson · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’m going to come right out and say it. Ask Me is definitely not my essential 100 poems of William Stafford, but let me explain. For a 15 year period I didn’t write any poetry and barely read any collections. The one collection I did read and really love was The Long Sigh The Wind Makes by William Stafford. I actually begged the library to sell the copy to me as there was a scribble on the inside page to suggest it was going to be put up for sale. They politely refused. Next visit, of course, it was gone from the catalogue list and now sells for $70+ USD.
Recently when I felt the need to get in touch with Stafford again I bought the above collection and was incredibly disappointed. This was not my William Stafford! Then of course there followed a crazy discussion with myself. Was I completely wrong about The Long Sigh? Did I remember the poems incorrectly? Were they nowhere near as good as I thought they were? A lot of rumination has resulted in the belief that this is simply not My Essential 100 poems at all or anywhere near.
Because it’s such a long time since I read the Long Sigh I can’t be completely positive but I’m pretty sure that his son has only selected a few from that collection for his 100. A lot of the poems in Ask Me don’t really look at nature - nature for it’s own sake as the poems I remember celebrating nature, did. This collection speaks of alienation - the poet from the rest of the world and from his past. There is also a slight patronising tone when the poet speaks to the reader that I can’t shake off. What I would give for a copy of the The Long Sigh just to see how many poems made it into this collection from the poet’s oeuvre.
I am also reacting to this collection in the light of reading Another World Instead. These are very early poems written between 1937 and 1947 and I prefer more from these early poems, again, than from Ask Me.
The ones I do like in Ask Me are Our Story, Circle of Breath and Climbing Along the River. Here is Climbing along the River, the closest I felt to that elusive other collection.

Climbing along the River

Willows never forget how it feels
to be young.

Do you remember where you came from?
Gravel remembers.

Even the upper end of the river
believes in the ocean.

Exactly at midnight
yesterday sighs away.

What I believe is,
all animals have one soul.
Over the land they love
they crisscross forever.

[jeremy · Rating 5 out of 5]

2014 marks the centennial of william stafford's birth. if you happen to live anywhere near the pacific northwest, you've undoubtedly noticed that this occasion has been marked by considerable fanfare and a number of high profile events. a prolific and dedicated writer (however late to the game - publishing his first collection at the age of 46), stafford was beloved and seemingly universally-praised by everyone he encountered. ask me is a stunning and stirring collection featuring 100 of stafford's poems and serves as a fantastic introduction to the breadth and depth of the late poet's remarkable work.

ask me

some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes i have made. ask me whether
what i have done is my life. others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

i will listen to what you say.
you and i can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. we know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
what the river says, that is what i say.

~

a ritual to read to each other

if you don't know the kind of person i am
and i don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

for there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

and as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
i call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

and so i appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider -
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

for it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give - yes or no, or maybe -
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

~

"i must be willingly fallible to deserve a place in the realm where miracles happen."

[Nathan · Rating 5 out of 5]

William Stafford is one of our national treasures.
I read his books very slowly, because I don't want them to end.
So… I read this one very, very slowly.
Edited by his son Kim, this is absolutely one of the better
"greatest hits" albums I've seen…

This book is one part, or piece in the puzzle,
of what could rescue American poetry from itself…

[Nan · Rating 4 out of 5]

William Stafford's poems, while initially accessible, often require repeated and attentive readings to mine their fuller meaning. Take time with them. As with any poetry collection, some selections make a special connection to any individual reader. "Ask Me", "You Reading This, Be Ready", "Assurance" and others did that for me.

[Nathan Albright · Rating 5 out of 5]

For those who are well-acquainted with the thoughtful and reflective and often deeply straightforward while simultaneously layered poetry of William Stafford [1], it is little surprise that he was considered to be a poet of sufficient worth to have a glossy best-of collection of poems.  And it can be argued by those of us who appreciate his poetry that there were a lot of great poems from the late former poet laureate of Oregon that were not included in this collection.  As a writer of somewhere around 28,000 poems and dozens of books and anthologies of poems, the fact that one can have a solid and perhaps eternal argument of his most essential poems is a reflection of the fact that he wrote a lot of crackling good poetry that is worth reading and reflecting upon and remembering, the sort of poetry that is probably taught in good schools to young people filled with the muse of poetry themselves.  It would be an honor for any of us who have written poetry to have collections of essential poems, and better yet for those collections to be read and appreciated, since it is said that few people read poems anymore.  Without a doubt, William Stafford is worthy of the honor of being read.

The poems included in this anthology include a great many that readers may be familiar with from other works.  Included, for example, among the poems in this collection are the title track for Traveling Through The Dark that opens that book as well as such works as "A Story That Could Be True," "The Way It Is," "You Reading This, Be Ready," "A Ritual To Read To Each Other," "For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid," "Ceremony," and "Starting With Little Things."  There are certain themes and moods that are represented over and over again, from the poet's pacifism and his concern with forgotten aspects of history, including the relationship between white settlers and "indiginous" peoples of the land who themselves were earlier immigrants from Siberia, as well as a lot of writings that deal with creation and family and that muse upon death and memory.  There are quite a few poems that I greatly appreciate of Stafford's that are not included in this anthology, but the poems included here are certainly not clunkers by any rate, as is the case with some best-of collections.  

If the poems are often about familiar subjects for poems, though, they are given with a richness of perspective.  Stafford is a profoundly thoughtful writer and the complex workings of his mind are visible in the way that he draws deep insights from seemingly mundane matters.  Among the more striking ways that the poet uses ordinary observations to draw startling conclusions is in "The Fish Counter At Bonneville," when he notes the dead fish thanks to the blocking of the Colombia at that place, making a stand against the technologies that harm creation by focusing on the fish and not being too preachy about the politics of such matters as environmentalism as is the way of some.  To be sure, the poet is a political radical in many ways, but he goes about his radicalism in a sufficiently subtle way that his perspective does not offend even where one disagrees about his stance on one or another subject.  It is that lesson in framing and his attention to life in Oregon that makes this a worthwhile collection even if those who selected these "essential" poems clearly had some political agendas in the material included and the points they were trying to use these poems to make.

[1] See, for example:

https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2016...

https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2014...

https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2014...

https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2014...

[Sherry Elmer · Rating 4 out of 5]

If the only worthwhile line in Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems was this line from "Burning A Book," the collection would be worth the time to read it:

More disturbing
than book ashes are whole libraries that no one
got around to writing


As someone who is haunted by the idea of wasting time and of failing to write the poems and stories that are in me waiting to be written, this line felt like a dagger to the heart. Or rather, if I will let it, a goad to action. (Sadly, I need such a thing).

Thankfully, this was not the only powerful or enjoyable or praiseworthy line. And while I cannot say these poems are "essential," they are outstanding, and I very much enjoyed reading this collection by the prolific and respected poet, William Stafford.

[Wouter · Rating 4 out of 5]

"These journeys are quiet. They mark my days with adventure / too precious for anyone else to share, little gems / of darkness, the world going by, and my breath, and the road."

[Garfield · Rating 5 out of 5]

I pick this volume up again and again. Which is the beauty of poetry, isn't it? So I will probably be "currently-reading" this one over and over again.

[Lisa Brintlinger · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love his poems. I needed to revisit his "essential" poems! As I read, I started a list of the ones I loved and the list kept getting longer and longer. His brilliant eye and heart can focus on nature, human nature, and values in such a wondrous way.

[Yvonne S · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Your job is to find what the world is trying to be." ~from Stafford's "Vocation," p5.

[Alex Defroand · Rating 4 out of 5]

I find a lot of William Stafford's poetry a bit 'meh'. He is a quiet, unshowy poet, exploring familiar themes of nature, politics, love, growing up, and growing old. Many of his poems in this collection I find to be unoriginal, unmemorable, and, frankly, uninteresting.

But a small handful, for whatever reason, utterly move me. They are poems I speak aloud and savour every word. They are poems I write and rewrite, hoping the beauty and poignancy of them are absorbed into my soul

Favourites: Fifteen, At The Bomb Testing Site, Roll Call, Just Thinking, A Story That Could Be True, and most of all, Stafford's masterpiece: Traveling Through The Dark.

Fifteen
...
I admired that pulsing gleam, the
shiny flanks, the demure headlights
fringed where it lay; I led it gently
to the road and stood with that
companion, ready and friendly. I was fifteen. ...

Vocation
...
Now both my parents, the long line through the plain,
the meadowlarks, the sky, the world's whole dream
remain, and I hear him say while I stand between the two,
helpless, both of them part of me:
"Your job is to find what the world is trying to be."

A Story That Could Be True

...
when the great wind comes
and the robberies of the rain
you stand on the corner shivering.
The people who go by -
you wonder at their calm

They miss the wisper that runs
any day in your mind,
"Who are you really, wanderer?" -
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold
the world around you is:
"Maybe I'm a king."

At The Bomb Testing Site

At noon in the desert a panting lizard
waited for history, its elbows tense,
watching the curve of a particular road
as if something might happen
...

Just Thinking
...
Been on probation most of my life. And
the rest of my life been condemned. So these moments
count for a lot - peace, you know.

Let the bucket of memory down into the well,
bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No one
stirring, no plans. Just being there.

This is what the whole thing is about.


Traveling Throught the Dark

Traveling Through the kark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing:
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason -
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the stead engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning read;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all - my only swerving -
then pushed her over the edge into the river.

[Cheryl · Rating 5 out of 5]

FOUND POEM (instead of a review)

It is all right to be simply the way you have to be,
among contradictory ridges in some crescendo of knowing.
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now?

Above, air sighs the pines. It was this way
when Rome was clanging, when Troy was being built,
when campfires lighted caves. The white butterflies dance
by the thousands in the still sunshine. Suddenly, anything
could happen to you. Your soul pulls toward the canyon.

The earth says have a place, be what that place
requires; We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.

What the river says, that is what I say.
Listening, I think that’s what the earth says:
all animals have one soul.
Over the land they love
they crisscross forever
a landscape
that proclaims a universe - sermon
of the hills, hallelujah mountain,
highway guided by the way the world is tilted.

That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed. What you fear
will not go away: it will take you into
yourself and bless you and keep you.
That's the world, and we all live there.

All through your life whatever is near extends
When you think.
You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes.
Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,
you sing-
that’s when
you get going best, glad to be lost,
learning how real it is
here on the earth, again and again.

Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
I pound on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
“Made it again! Made it again!”
The whole wide world pours down-
Doing is not enough; being is not enough;
knowing is far from enough. We study how to deserve
what has already been given us.

But once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold,
found some limit beyond the waterfall,
a season changes, and we come back, changed
but safe, quiet, grateful.
I didn’t hear it- I breathed it into my ears.

You could see the tiniest pattern of bark on the trees
and every slight angle of color change
in the sunshine—millions of miles of gold light
lavished on people like us.

We were traveling between a mountain and Thursday,
Holding pages back on the calendar,
Remembering every turn in the roadway:
We hold that sky, we said, and remember.
So magic a time it was that I was both brave and afraid.
Some day like this might save the world.

[Mary · Rating 3 out of 5]

Uplifting without being sappy; lovely without being overblown. Stafford was a conscientious objector, and it shows, even in the poems that are not actually about that. He values life and advocates for drawing together while still being aware that, to quote one of the poems, "the darkness around us is deep." There are a few in this collection that I read, shrugged, and forgot--but that's probably going to be true in nearly every collection of poetry ever written. Not everything resonates for everyone. The ones I loved, I really loved; the ones I didn't were at least mildly interesting. His writing is accessible while still giving the reader something to contemplate. I would happily own this volume and revisit it.

I think there are several 4 or 5 star poems in here, but overall it averages more of a 3, for me, so that's what I'm going with.

[Charles · Rating 5 out of 5]

Grandfather of American Poetry Speaks.

I wrote to William Stafford while I earned my M.F.A. in creative writing at Colorado State University. In 1987 I was teaching at Front Range Community College and attending poetry workshops taught by Professor Bill Tremblay. He was and is my poet's poet. I admired Eliot and Pound, I fell in love with Miss Emily. But, Stafford was different. He was the poet who wrote to me and told me my poems were filled with promise. I find this volume of verses that could be written by me, exceptional. These lines are lines I know I could write. But I didn't. These are the grandfather's poems the earth asks for more .

[Lenora Good · Rating 5 out of 5]

These 100 poems were selected by William Stafford's son. It is my first foray into Stafford's poetry, at least in a book (I've read some of his poems onsey-twosey). All of these poems are good, and a great many are marvelous.

I read them today, July 4th, and as I finished it I smiled—for I am a Vet, and Mr. Stafford was a conscientious objector, and my favorites of his poems were the anti-war ones.

If you've ever wondered if you could write a poem, or even should, pick up a copy of Ask Me, read it, and then in the words of Mr. Stafford, "...write your own."

[Marjie C-O · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a wonderful, wonderful voice. Stafford's poetry is stunning in its simplicity, even delicacy, yet somehow complex and rich in imagery, redolent with deep reflection, often a sort of nostalgia. I feel like these poems have been poised and waiting for me all my life, for just the right time, even written from inside my own head! Unfortunately his political works leave me cold - it is just not the flavor of poetry I relate to or enjoy. But all the rest is breathtaking. So glad to have discovered William Stafford.

[Odie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Deeply honest and abundantly emotive, Stafford's poetry is as American as anything by Whitman or Dickinson. His economy with words is testament to the fact that less is more. I've grown fond of this publishing house, Graywolf, as well, they introduced me to James L. White, another unquestionably American poet.

[Tandava Graham · Rating 4 out of 5]

A very nice collection. A couple of my favorites are missing, but apparently Stafford published about 4,000 during his lifetime, so I guess any list of “essentials” will have trouble pleasing everybody. Some of my favorites that are included were “Any Morning,” “Malheur Before Dawn,” “Passing Remark,” “Saint Matthew and All,” “When I Met My Muse,” and “Why I Am Happy.”

[Patti K · Rating 4 out of 5]

This Graywolf edition was published in 2014. These soft-spoken,
gently insightful poems are a pleasure to read. Thoreau would have
loved them. The last line of "Vocation": "Your job is to find what
the world is trying to be." In the title poem, he comments: "What
the river says, that is what I say." It is time well-spent to read
through this volume of poems.

[Michelle · Rating 4 out of 5]

As someone who has never read Stafford before, I really enjoyed the preface written by the late poet's daughter which offered great insight into the kind of man he was and the meaning behind his words. She references an occurrence at one of his many poetry readings on the road when a listener openly remarked "I could have written that" and Stafford looked upon the man kindly and replied "But you didn't... you could write your own". Stafford himself didn't release his first book until forty-six years old. "I must be willingly fallible" he wrote "to deserve a place in the realm where miracles happen." What a man- I would've liked to have met him.

[Erin · Rating 5 out of 5]

William Stafford usually has a twist, or a wise-alek remark hidden in each poem. The surface read lulls you into nodding along until wait, go back, "Did he say what I think he just did?"
yes, yes he did.

[Martha · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m keeping this wonderful and inspiring book on my chairside table to browse and dig into when I crave a voice that will help me really see. Stafford’s is the kind of poetry I love—sensible, unsentimental, and probing.

[Taylor · Rating 4 out of 5]

I started this when we were still in Oregon and read parts of it by Timothy Lake. It's perfect landscape poetry. I enjoyed it more than I do most poetry.

[Justin Pitt · Rating 5 out of 5]

Completely moving. Simple and contemplative.

Highlights are "Ask Me," "Vocation," "A Catechism," "Passing Remark,""Security," "Just Thinking," and "Any Morning."

[Heather · Rating 4 out of 5]

God, I love William Stafford. Even in Quiet Places is still my favorite collection of his, but the poems in here (including some from that collection) are beautiful and moving.

[Patricia N. McLaughlin · Rating 4 out of 5]

A keen observer, translating the hieroglyphics of everyday life into stanzas of lucent meaning