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The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems
So, the world happens twice--
once what we see it as;
second it legends itself
deep, the way it is.
William Stafford filled his life and ours with poetry of challenge and consolation. The Way It Is gathers unpublished poems from his last year, including the poem he wrote the day he died, as well as an essential selection of works from throughout his career. An editorial team including his son Kim Stafford, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Robert Bly collaborated on shaping this book of Stafford's life in poetry.
The poems in The Way It Is encompass Stafford's rugged domesticity, the political edge of his irony, and his brave starings off into emptiness. What emerges here is Stafford's faith in language and the soul, those things that form the base for his artistic gyroscope. This collection reveals the depth and breadth of a poet for whom the art was to make a life richly lived.
once what we see it as;
second it legends itself
deep, the way it is.
William Stafford filled his life and ours with poetry of challenge and consolation. The Way It Is gathers unpublished poems from his last year, including the poem he wrote the day he died, as well as an essential selection of works from throughout his career. An editorial team including his son Kim Stafford, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Robert Bly collaborated on shaping this book of Stafford's life in poetry.
The poems in The Way It Is encompass Stafford's rugged domesticity, the political edge of his irony, and his brave starings off into emptiness. What emerges here is Stafford's faith in language and the soul, those things that form the base for his artistic gyroscope. This collection reveals the depth and breadth of a poet for whom the art was to make a life richly lived.
296 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1998
35 people are currently reading
903 people want to read
About the author
William Stafford
190 books126 followersWilliam 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...
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...
Ratings & Reviews
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews
November 22, 2009
After nearly a decade of unjust war, torture, and human rights violations on the part of our government, I find myself exhausted of outrage and with little belief that any action of mine can cause any meaningful political change.
At such a time, I come to William Stafford as to a refuge.
Take, for example, "Something to Declare"
At such a time, I come to William Stafford as to a refuge.
Take, for example, "Something to Declare"
They have never had a war big enough
to slow that pulse in the earth under
our path near that old river.
Even as a swallow swims through the air
a certain day skips and returns, hungry for
the feel and lift of the time passed by.
That was the place where I lived awhile
dragging a wing, and the spin of the world
started its tilt into where it is now.
They say that history is going on somewhere.
They say it won't stop. I have held
one picture still for a long time and waited.
This is only a little report floated
into the slow current so the wind will know
which way to come if it wants to find me.
December 30, 2008
Another book I'll have on my "currently-reading" shelf forever. Poetry--you can't just dash through it and if it is good you have to read it more than once. I love lines like this: "A voice within my shadow wakened me".
November 25, 2011
This is the first book I have finished for My Two-Thirds Book Challenge.
Sara picked this book up at the lovely Defunct Books in Iowa City. It is a nice used book store that sits atop The Red Avocado vegan restaurant. Two great places in such proximity!
At 268 pages, there are a lot of poems in this book, which cover a 36-year publication history (1960-1996). It even includes the poem he wrote on the day he died.
I quite enjoyed this book, copied out several poems and a handful or two of great lines to use as prompts, read several to Sara, and generally pondered what Mr. William Stafford was like as a human being.
The one possible drawback to these poems is that there are simply too many of them to digest at once. The reader can discern one or more minor shifts in Stafford's work across time* which makes it a bit more difficult to get a grasp on him at any specific time. But honestly, this is a very small thing as his shifts are never very large and have more to do with his moving across parts of the country and with the normal shifts in theme and voice that a poet encounters as they age.
These poems accompany one as well as would a wise, world-observant, loquacious, and avuncular (but frequently solitary) companion who knows how to give one all the space and time one needs to grow just as wise and world-observant. He never gets in your way, never obstructs your view, doesn't tell you what to think or even what to observe. The Way It Is is not a prescription but a description, and it winds its way through the whole volume and not simply the single short poem that bears that title. In fact, lines and phrases quite similar to "the way it is" are peppered throughout the poems of this volume.
Love, the land, family, community, death, aging, historical events, nature, academia, and writing are only some of the many topics of these hundreds of poems.
In many ways I wish that I had taken a bit more time with these poems, that I had let them sink in more. Although, I am envisioning rereading them in the not-so-distant future as a one-poem-a-day meditation over the course of a year plus (there are approx. 400 poems). My version of a bible chapter a day, if you will.
*My biggest gripe with this book is its arrangement. The approximately 400 poems were selected from "some three thousand poems published by William Stafford in either journals or in the sixty-seven volumes from West of Your City (1960) to Even in Quiet Places (1996), and from the poet's Daily Writings, with special attention to those of the last year of his life" (253). Great so far, but then:
"The volume is organized as follows: recent poems in the first section; a second section selected from the six volumes collected by HarperCollins in Stories That Could Be True (1977); a third section of poems published by other publishers, mostly in limited editions; and a fourth section selected from the poet's last three HarperCollins volumes, A Glass Face in the Rain, An Oregon Message, and Passwords" (253).
Who does that kind of crap? Oh, yes. Poetry editors. Idiots! To show you the order in which I read these poems, as chronological as possible, here is the listing we constructed to do so:
p. 60 1960
p. 77 1962
p. 103 1966
p. 120 1970
p. 131 1973
p. 49 1977
p. 187 1982
p. 149 1983
p. 208 1987
p. 231 1991
p. 155 1992
p. 177 1980-1993
p. 3 1992
p. 24 1993
p. 166 1996
Simply astonishing!
All arrangement issues aside, I truly enjoyed this book and look forward to revisiting it and more of William Stafford's work.
William Stafford at The Poetry Foundation
I will leave you with an excerpt from "An Afternoon in the Stacks"
Sara picked this book up at the lovely Defunct Books in Iowa City. It is a nice used book store that sits atop The Red Avocado vegan restaurant. Two great places in such proximity!
At 268 pages, there are a lot of poems in this book, which cover a 36-year publication history (1960-1996). It even includes the poem he wrote on the day he died.
I quite enjoyed this book, copied out several poems and a handful or two of great lines to use as prompts, read several to Sara, and generally pondered what Mr. William Stafford was like as a human being.
The one possible drawback to these poems is that there are simply too many of them to digest at once. The reader can discern one or more minor shifts in Stafford's work across time* which makes it a bit more difficult to get a grasp on him at any specific time. But honestly, this is a very small thing as his shifts are never very large and have more to do with his moving across parts of the country and with the normal shifts in theme and voice that a poet encounters as they age.
These poems accompany one as well as would a wise, world-observant, loquacious, and avuncular (but frequently solitary) companion who knows how to give one all the space and time one needs to grow just as wise and world-observant. He never gets in your way, never obstructs your view, doesn't tell you what to think or even what to observe. The Way It Is is not a prescription but a description, and it winds its way through the whole volume and not simply the single short poem that bears that title. In fact, lines and phrases quite similar to "the way it is" are peppered throughout the poems of this volume.
Love, the land, family, community, death, aging, historical events, nature, academia, and writing are only some of the many topics of these hundreds of poems.
In many ways I wish that I had taken a bit more time with these poems, that I had let them sink in more. Although, I am envisioning rereading them in the not-so-distant future as a one-poem-a-day meditation over the course of a year plus (there are approx. 400 poems). My version of a bible chapter a day, if you will.
*My biggest gripe with this book is its arrangement. The approximately 400 poems were selected from "some three thousand poems published by William Stafford in either journals or in the sixty-seven volumes from West of Your City (1960) to Even in Quiet Places (1996), and from the poet's Daily Writings, with special attention to those of the last year of his life" (253). Great so far, but then:
"The volume is organized as follows: recent poems in the first section; a second section selected from the six volumes collected by HarperCollins in Stories That Could Be True (1977); a third section of poems published by other publishers, mostly in limited editions; and a fourth section selected from the poet's last three HarperCollins volumes, A Glass Face in the Rain, An Oregon Message, and Passwords" (253).
Who does that kind of crap? Oh, yes. Poetry editors. Idiots! To show you the order in which I read these poems, as chronological as possible, here is the listing we constructed to do so:
p. 60 1960
p. 77 1962
p. 103 1966
p. 120 1970
p. 131 1973
p. 49 1977
p. 187 1982
p. 149 1983
p. 208 1987
p. 231 1991
p. 155 1992
p. 177 1980-1993
p. 3 1992
p. 24 1993
p. 166 1996
Simply astonishing!
All arrangement issues aside, I truly enjoyed this book and look forward to revisiting it and more of William Stafford's work.
William Stafford at The Poetry Foundation
I will leave you with an excerpt from "An Afternoon in the Stacks"
...
…. When this book ends
I will pull it inside-out like a sock
and throw it back in the library. But the rumor
of it will haunt all that follows in my life.
….
The Way It Is (235)
February 2, 2023
Things in the Wild Need Salt
Of the many histories, Earth tells only one–
Earth misses many things people tell about,
like maybe there are earthquakes that we should have had,
or animals that know more love than God ever felt.
And we need these things: things in the wild need salt.
Once in a cave a little bar of light
fell into my hand. The walls leaned over me.
I carried it outside to let the stars look;
they peered in my hand. Stars are like that.
Do not be afraid–I no longer carry it.
But when I see a face now, splinters of that light
fall and won’t go out, no matter how faint
the buried star shines back there in the cave.
It is in the earth wherever I walk.
It is in the earth wherever I walk.
– William Stafford
…No review necessary.
Of the many histories, Earth tells only one–
Earth misses many things people tell about,
like maybe there are earthquakes that we should have had,
or animals that know more love than God ever felt.
And we need these things: things in the wild need salt.
Once in a cave a little bar of light
fell into my hand. The walls leaned over me.
I carried it outside to let the stars look;
they peered in my hand. Stars are like that.
Do not be afraid–I no longer carry it.
But when I see a face now, splinters of that light
fall and won’t go out, no matter how faint
the buried star shines back there in the cave.
It is in the earth wherever I walk.
It is in the earth wherever I walk.
– William Stafford
…No review necessary.
May 13, 2015
A friend whose reactions to the world I particularly admire posted a poem by William Stafford online recently; that was the first I'd heard of him. His collected poems mostly fall within a distinct emotional terrain - part stoic, part melancholy - and within it, they are wonderful. Stafford published his first book of poetry at age 48, and many of his poems focus on memories of his parents, aging and retirement, or how we live in the presence of transience and loss. His language is resolutely simple, often warm; natural forces are profound and often generous. A few of the poems reflect Stafford's pacifism, but most pose moral rather than political questions.
Here's one short poem, titled, 'At the Grave of My Brother: Bomber Pilot' (p15):
Tantalized by wind, this flag that flies
to mark your grave discourages those nearby
graves, and all still marching this hillside chanting,
"Heroes, thanks. Goodby."
If a visitor may quiz a marble sentiment.
was this tombstone quarried in that country
where you slew thousands likewise honored
of the enemy?
Reluctant hero, drafted again each Fourth
of July, I'll bow and remember you. Who
shall we follow next? Who shall we kill
next time?
and another, titled 'Over in Montana' (p167):
Winter stops by for a visit each year.
Dead leaves cluster around. They know what is
coming. They listen to some silent song.
At a bend in the Missouri, up where
it's clear, teal and mallards lower
their wings and come gliding in.
A cottonwood grove gets ready. Limbs
reach out. They touch and shiver.
These nights are going to get cold.
Stars will sharpen and glitter. They make
their strange signs in a rigid pattern
above hollow trees and burrows and houses -
The great story weaves closer and closer, millions of
touches, wide spaces lying out in the open.
huddles of brush and grass, all the little lives.
A final aspect of Stafford's poetry - not captured in either of these two poems - is his wit, which shows up most often in a final phrase, or even just a parenthetical, that turns the rest of the poem on its head, or re-orients it in a way that exposes human vulnerability. This will be a collection to acquire and read regularly.
Here's one short poem, titled, 'At the Grave of My Brother: Bomber Pilot' (p15):
Tantalized by wind, this flag that flies
to mark your grave discourages those nearby
graves, and all still marching this hillside chanting,
"Heroes, thanks. Goodby."
If a visitor may quiz a marble sentiment.
was this tombstone quarried in that country
where you slew thousands likewise honored
of the enemy?
Reluctant hero, drafted again each Fourth
of July, I'll bow and remember you. Who
shall we follow next? Who shall we kill
next time?
and another, titled 'Over in Montana' (p167):
Winter stops by for a visit each year.
Dead leaves cluster around. They know what is
coming. They listen to some silent song.
At a bend in the Missouri, up where
it's clear, teal and mallards lower
their wings and come gliding in.
A cottonwood grove gets ready. Limbs
reach out. They touch and shiver.
These nights are going to get cold.
Stars will sharpen and glitter. They make
their strange signs in a rigid pattern
above hollow trees and burrows and houses -
The great story weaves closer and closer, millions of
touches, wide spaces lying out in the open.
huddles of brush and grass, all the little lives.
A final aspect of Stafford's poetry - not captured in either of these two poems - is his wit, which shows up most often in a final phrase, or even just a parenthetical, that turns the rest of the poem on its head, or re-orients it in a way that exposes human vulnerability. This will be a collection to acquire and read regularly.
August 9, 2007
a wonderful compilation of stafford's work including each poem written the last year of his life. (he always tried to write a poem a day, so that's a decent bunch.)
stafford is one of my favorite poets, this collection manages to give you his life's work, plus a whole slew of new things that'd he'd just started putting down on paper. it's hard to say which bunch i enjoyed more.
stafford is one of my favorite poets, this collection manages to give you his life's work, plus a whole slew of new things that'd he'd just started putting down on paper. it's hard to say which bunch i enjoyed more.
May 26, 2008
This is the best introduction to Stafford, a great overview, and it includes a section entitled "There's a Thread You Follow," with a selection of 46 poems written the year of his death, sequenced according to date written. His practice was to write a one poem per day. His last poem, "Are you Mr. William Stafford?", will break your heart.
March 26, 2010
Stafford's writing while direct and plain is rich with observation and understanding of life. This is a book to return to again and again over the years, and I suspect find new meanings each time. Stafford's humility and love of nature shine in his writing. While they are different, as a fan of Mary Oliver I'd also recommend Stafford.
January 27, 2010
'You there, reading this, be ready,' was read on my wedding day and I was ready...
I go back to stafford often. Someone says in the intoduction to 'The Way it is' that thre is a different stafford for everyone.
I love all the staffords - the playful, the funny, the important, the popular, the moral, the angry, the meditative, the sad..
I go back to stafford often. Someone says in the intoduction to 'The Way it is' that thre is a different stafford for everyone.
I love all the staffords - the playful, the funny, the important, the popular, the moral, the angry, the meditative, the sad..
Read
July 9, 2010The collection truly conveys the scope and power of Stafford’s poetry. Many of the poems in this collection have been widely anthologized, but the book is a great to explore the many subtleties of Stafford’s writing. Stafford’s work is immediately accessible and devastatingly tremendous in its simplicity.
July 19, 2011
I loved Stafford. His poetry delivers like drinking water: you don't realize how much you needed it until you've had your fill. I appreciate how short and yet substantial his works are; it starts to feel like beads on a necklace after a time, with each one different, and yet all of them speaking to the same big question.
February 25, 2012
These are among the most accessible poems I have ever found. I feel like some of them have been written just for me. I am happy to have discovered William Stafford finally...and wonder how I missed him before! This collection includes poems he wrote in the last year of his life, including the last day of his life. Lovely preface by Nye.
October 25, 2015
Some of William Stafford's poetry in this book is enjoyable and some is so inscrutable that I wondered how it got published and why he is so lauded as a poet. He is the great influencer of one of my most favorite poets, Naomi Shihab Nye, so I expected to love his poetry as much as hers, but I see little relationship between their poems. I still love Nye far more than Stafford.
April 21, 2017
His development as a poet and person is amazing. his words are so soft --yet his poetry is a comforting hand as you lay on the ground..One of the most gentle and gifted poets of all time.Truly a man of peace
July 22, 2009
"Right has a long and intricate name./ And the saying of it is a lonely thing."
March 10, 2010
Just outstanding. Unpretentious, thoughtful, simple, excellent poetry.
April 26, 2021
I don't remember what led me to the writings of William Stafford, but once I discovered him (in the way one discovers the moon no doubt), I wanted to keep him all to myself. In short, I have yet to read a poet that speaks to me, and in turn, moves me, the way William Stafford does. I laughed, I cried, I was enraged, and against my selfish inclinations, I was eager to share him with the world. "The Way it Is" consists of about 500 poems and yet merely scratches the surface of his long library of work, most of which is out of print and stupidly expensive to buy. This collection is such a gift, and I will no doubt be coming back to it for years to come, and when my kids are arguing over which item of mine holds the most sentimental value after I pass, I hope this book, worn out and taped as it might be, is up for consideration.
April 7, 2023
This collection has so many subtle yet strong threads running through it -- the not-impressed view of war, violence, and bravado for which he is known; a love of small, soft, innocent things; the earnest desire to shield these innocent things from harm; a quiet celebration of the earth; the searching for and finding home right where you are; a reminder to slow down and ground down in the simple and quotidian. I appreciated the melancholy and disenchantment, too...the reminder of the 10,000 sorrows we share and can't always express in words. I read this over the course of about a year and it was a constant and reassuring friend to me -- thank you Stafford.
June 6, 2020
I actually enjoyed Kim Stafford's biography, "Early Morning: Remembering My Father, William Stafford," more than his father's poetry. William Stafford wrote one at 4:00 every morning, lying down. Some of them moving, most are interesting, but there's such a self-absorbed quality overall. Poetry is introspection, but I guess I'm always watching for hope to emerge eventually from such a large collection.
July 7, 2017
Along with Denise Levertov, W.H. Auden, Mary Oliver, Jane Kenyon, and Naomi Shihab Nye (one of Stafford's students), this collection of Stafford rocketed him into my poetic hall of fame. Too many good ones to quote.
Read
May 5, 2020Started out reading every poem, then spot read. Have had this book for a while. Purchased it based on a single poem I liked. In the end, I can't say I found more than one more that I paused over. Nice poetry, very evocative of time and place. I guess I was looking for something different.
February 22, 2025
Contemporary poetry doesn't tend to impress me, but I like to try new poets every so often, to see what's out there and try to find someone new I might fall in love with.
Stafford's poems aren't terrible. They are perfectly readable, but they didn't capture my attention or emotions.
Stafford's poems aren't terrible. They are perfectly readable, but they didn't capture my attention or emotions.
August 9, 2018
I picked this up, in great part, because Naomi Shihab Nye (I love her poetry) has written about how William Stafford inspired her a lot. In fact, the preface of this collection was written by her (and it was very nice). Additionally, I was intrigued by Stafford because he lived in Oregon, and worked at Lewis and Clark College. So, I liked the book alright; there were poems here and there that I really enjoyed. There were a lot of anti-war/ conscientious objector poems. They were super accessible, some quite fulfilling reads. At times I was also a bit bored, though I think of that as a me problem, and not Stafford’s poems problem.
April 5, 2019
He's got such an odd, interesting and individual way of seeing the world. He continually astonishes me.
March 13, 2024
Survey of a life's poems, themes of loss, teaching, friendship, and freedom, a broad sweep of the American West and disappointment. Not many for me but uncluttered thinking by writing.
April 18, 2024
Something for everyone! His collection of poems is varied and ranges from one extreme to the other.
My particular favorites are Right to Die, Just Thinking, Passing Remark, and Ode to Garlic.
My particular favorites are Right to Die, Just Thinking, Passing Remark, and Ode to Garlic.
June 5, 2025
A career retrospective. Mostly very good, and including pieces from collections I’ve read before. Generally (not entirely) I preferred the ones from later in his life.
January 13, 2010
There are a lot of reasons the fan base of this deceased poet keeps growing. For readers of William Stafford, it is the wisdom of his message, his clear, comprehensible prose, his quiet urgency and subtle, honest emotions. His magic lies in not trying to be anything other than who he is. He is often playful but more often serious.
In a body of work this size, the themes become obvious. There is a calming presence coming up from the earth and down from the stars. In other words, it's everywhere - if one is willing to do more than glance around. Our destruction of nature will come back to us someday. Time passes whether you like it or not. War is never a matter of fate. Fear is everywhere - and something to learn from. The unassuming, metaphorical nature of Stafford's writing means that these important, timeless messages have a better chance soak into one's psyche, slow and sure.
And he's not afraid to take on opposing opinions to again reflect on his place in the world:
"After Arguing against the Contention That Art Must Come from Discontent"
Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind-
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward....
I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark;
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-the whispering to stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"
"After arguing" represents the best, most enduring trait of Stafford's work: the celebration of being alone and of making your own path in life. Stafford acknowledges loneliness, pays tribute to his parents and others who died in his lifetime, but again and again finds comfort in his own company.
This book provides an important sampling of Stafford's work. The excerpts from his first book "West of Your City" and his 1982 offering "A Glass Face In the Rain" particularly stand out. It is a volume that reads well all at once or anytime a calm, wise, beautiful and evocative voice is needed.
In a body of work this size, the themes become obvious. There is a calming presence coming up from the earth and down from the stars. In other words, it's everywhere - if one is willing to do more than glance around. Our destruction of nature will come back to us someday. Time passes whether you like it or not. War is never a matter of fate. Fear is everywhere - and something to learn from. The unassuming, metaphorical nature of Stafford's writing means that these important, timeless messages have a better chance soak into one's psyche, slow and sure.
And he's not afraid to take on opposing opinions to again reflect on his place in the world:
"After Arguing against the Contention That Art Must Come from Discontent"
Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind-
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward....
I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark;
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-the whispering to stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"
"After arguing" represents the best, most enduring trait of Stafford's work: the celebration of being alone and of making your own path in life. Stafford acknowledges loneliness, pays tribute to his parents and others who died in his lifetime, but again and again finds comfort in his own company.
This book provides an important sampling of Stafford's work. The excerpts from his first book "West of Your City" and his 1982 offering "A Glass Face In the Rain" particularly stand out. It is a volume that reads well all at once or anytime a calm, wise, beautiful and evocative voice is needed.
September 11, 2021
Oh, what a master of the colloquial with a heart that senses the heroic in the quotidian! “Traveling through the Dark” is one of the best poems ever written, packed with the prosaic power of narrative and the emotional punch of poetry.
Favorite Poems:
SOMETIMES I BREATHE (1992)
“Third Street”
“Entering History”
THERE’S A THREAD YOU FOLLOW (1993)
“The Way It Is”
STORIES THAT COULD BE TRUE (1977)
“At the Un-National Monument along the Canadian Border”
WEST OF YOUR CITY (1960)
“The Farm on the Great Plains”
“Watching the Jet Planes Dive”
“Bi-Focal”
“The Well Rising”
TRAVELING THROUGH THE DARK (1962)
“Traveling through the Dark”
“In Response to a Question”
“Late at Night”
“Glances”
“Representing Far Places”
“In Fear and Valor”
“Vocation”
THE RESCUED YEAR (1966)
“My Father: October 1942”
“Fifteen”
“The Rescued Year”
“At This Point on the Page”
ALLEGIANCES (1970)
“Earth Dweller”
SMOKE’S WAY (1983)
“Cave Painting”
“Assurance”
MY NAME IS WILLIAM TELL (1992)
“Inheriting the Earth: Quail”
“Widow”
“Some Remarks When Richard Hugo Came”
“The Gift”
EVEN IN QUIET PLACES (1996)
“In the All-Verbs Navaho World”
[Selections from other volumes, 1980-1993]
“Key of C—An Interlude for Marvin”
A GLASS FACE IN THE RAIN (1982)
“Salvaged Parts”
AN OREGON MESSAGE (1987)
“Next Time”
“Burning a Book”
“Turn Over Your Hand”
THE WAY I WRITE (1991)
“The Way I Write”
“An Archival Print”
“Consolations”
“Your Life”
“What’s in My Journal”
Favorite Poems:
SOMETIMES I BREATHE (1992)
“Third Street”
“Entering History”
THERE’S A THREAD YOU FOLLOW (1993)
“The Way It Is”
STORIES THAT COULD BE TRUE (1977)
“At the Un-National Monument along the Canadian Border”
WEST OF YOUR CITY (1960)
“The Farm on the Great Plains”
“Watching the Jet Planes Dive”
“Bi-Focal”
“The Well Rising”
TRAVELING THROUGH THE DARK (1962)
“Traveling through the Dark”
“In Response to a Question”
“Late at Night”
“Glances”
“Representing Far Places”
“In Fear and Valor”
“Vocation”
THE RESCUED YEAR (1966)
“My Father: October 1942”
“Fifteen”
“The Rescued Year”
“At This Point on the Page”
ALLEGIANCES (1970)
“Earth Dweller”
SMOKE’S WAY (1983)
“Cave Painting”
“Assurance”
MY NAME IS WILLIAM TELL (1992)
“Inheriting the Earth: Quail”
“Widow”
“Some Remarks When Richard Hugo Came”
“The Gift”
EVEN IN QUIET PLACES (1996)
“In the All-Verbs Navaho World”
[Selections from other volumes, 1980-1993]
“Key of C—An Interlude for Marvin”
A GLASS FACE IN THE RAIN (1982)
“Salvaged Parts”
AN OREGON MESSAGE (1987)
“Next Time”
“Burning a Book”
“Turn Over Your Hand”
THE WAY I WRITE (1991)
“The Way I Write”
“An Archival Print”
“Consolations”
“Your Life”
“What’s in My Journal”
February 22, 2014
These wonderful works were culled from 3000 poems published by William Stafford, the late Poet Laureate of oregon, including the last poem written the morning of his death.
Many of the titles refer to Oregon locations: "Malheur Dawn", "By a River in Osage Country", and "In Hurricane Canyon", "By the Deschutes Shore", "At the Klamath Berry Festival".
Many great lines here:
In "Message from Space", the message is "Everything counts; the message is the world."
In "Trouble with Reading", we "discover how ink feels; You plunge; it holds you."
I like the title of "Are you Mr. William Stafford? Yes, But ...".
"Just be ready for what God sends" has "You can tell when strange things with meaning will happen."
"Our city is Guarded by Rockets" displays "I think our story should not end, or go on in the dark with nobody listening."
"How These Words Happened" gives us "I found these words and put them together by their appetites and respect for each other. It happens like magic to the words in the dark house where they sleep."
Stafford's most famous and moving poems, "Ask Me" and Traveling Through the Dark", are included here.
What a creative mind is on display here!
Many of the titles refer to Oregon locations: "Malheur Dawn", "By a River in Osage Country", and "In Hurricane Canyon", "By the Deschutes Shore", "At the Klamath Berry Festival".
Many great lines here:
In "Message from Space", the message is "Everything counts; the message is the world."
In "Trouble with Reading", we "discover how ink feels; You plunge; it holds you."
I like the title of "Are you Mr. William Stafford? Yes, But ...".
"Just be ready for what God sends" has "You can tell when strange things with meaning will happen."
"Our city is Guarded by Rockets" displays "I think our story should not end, or go on in the dark with nobody listening."
"How These Words Happened" gives us "I found these words and put them together by their appetites and respect for each other. It happens like magic to the words in the dark house where they sleep."
Stafford's most famous and moving poems, "Ask Me" and Traveling Through the Dark", are included here.
What a creative mind is on display here!
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