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.
It seems somewhat strange in retrospect that Stafford would publish a book with a title of An Oregon Message and then be upset five years later that he was being labeled as a regional poet. I mean, if I saw a NY singer-songwriter release a song like "New York State Of Mind" or listened to a rock band from Los Angeles called LA Gunz, I would consider such acts to be regional ones. To be sure, William Stafford had far too much experience living in and traveling through areas of the United States to write about Oregon alone even on most Oregonish of his books of poetry (more on that later), and this book is by no means only about Oregon, if such a thing was possible from a writer like Stafford. Even so, this book finds Stafford in a place where he clearly sees himself as a voice of authority and this book at times sounds like the well-meaning advice that the old give the young that often seems so much better in retrospect than it does at the time such advice is often given without request or appreciation.
This is, by the standards of Stafford's poetry books, a relatively long volume of five parts totaling 143 pages. Obviously, this is not a long book overall, but it is clear that Stafford had a lot of poems he wanted to reach the wide world of poetry readers (?) and saw this work as a good way to do it. As a fan of his writings, I have no complaint about that, and quite a few of the poems, like the lovely and melancholy "Four Oak Leaves" and the dark "The Bush From Mongolia" I have read anthologized in other works. The book is divided into five parts: "The Book About You," "Serving With Gideon," "A Writer's Fountain Pen Talking," "Saint Matthew And All," and "The Big Picture." Some of the poems deal explicitly with Oregon, like the titular poem, "Owls At The Shakespeare Festival," and "The Rodeo at Sisters, Oregon." Other poems find Stafford in a reflective mood, encouraging others to take up the pen of writing and thinking about family, about what happens when people are reticent about speaking their voice and sharing their perspective, and reflecting on personal, professional, and literary criticism. Stafford even finds the place here to write a poem from the point of view of paper, rock, and scissors respectively and to write an "Ode to Garlic."
Let us say, then, that even when Stafford is at his most preachiest and his most obviously regional that he still has a great deal to say that is of wide interest and that what he has to share is thoughtful and reflective. This is a book of a writer growing old and pondering the power that is still left in his pen, and wondering if it is too late to send a message to those who are bothering to read it about what matters most in life and what it means to be committed to writing personally about one's life and one's point of view. To be sure, not everyone will listen to a voice from the past and not everyone will be able to relate to the author's desire for the reader to learn how to lose gracefully, but this is the book of someone who lived long and pretty well, at least by human standards, and so there is a great deal here to appreciate even despite the varied nature of the poet's subject matter and register, ranging from playful to entirely in earnest.
I wound up with a wounded copy of "An Oregon Message." No copyright page. No table of contents. And... it began with Chapter 2. After that, it had a title page for Chapter 3... but no Chapter 3. It repeated Chapter 2, poem for poem. And then, it somehow got itself back into order: Chapter 3, Chapter 4, etc.
And... it will hold a cherished spot on my shelf. I'll get another copy, because I simply must read Chapter 1 someday. But I love my wounded copy. Every work of art should have a flaw.
William Stafford moves up in ranking on my list of favorite poets every time I read one of his books. (Not to mention that his daughter is one of the coolest people I've ever met.)
So, it's as simple as this: If it's got his name on it, I buy it.
“I wish that I had been one of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus their cave was so quiet and their bed a dim century forgotten till their return. Think of our time— bells and honks, a schedule even for how to relax for success. But when they woke up, their work had all been finished—had transformed the whole world:
While they slept, faith flowered, an outside dream, and surrounded them in their cave. All they had to do was sleep toward Heaven and open their eyes like dolls. Up there on the ceiling was all they needed.”
Solemnity and solitude pervade in this book of poems by an American master. William Stafford sets this volume mostly in quiet places in the West, almost always away from crowds and bustle. I can’t say these poems are cheerful because that is not Stafford’s style but they are contemplative. Stafford was thinking deeply when he wrote them and you will find yourself doing much the same as the reader.
“Those lines on your palm, they can be read for a hidden part of your life that only those links can say—nobody’s voice can find so tiny a message as comes across your hand. Forbidden to complain, you have tried to be like somebody else, and only this fine record you examine sometimes like this can remember where you were going before that long silent evasion that your life became.” “Turn Over Your Hand,” p. 93
Stafford's poems provide the minds and hearts of readers with soul-nurturing sustenance, and their simple words are a pleasure to the ear.
The winner of the 1962 National Book Award notes that the poems are "organically grown" and each one is a "miracle that has been invited to happen."
The book opens with a poem outlining his journaling process: "More important than what was recorded, these evenings deepened my life. That scribbled wall became where everything recognized itself and passed into meaning."
The last chapter of poems, "The Big Picture", gives many simple profiles of Oregon locations such as the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. Several of the poems dwell lovingly on the wonders of the night sky.
We all have our favorites and Stafford is one of mine. There are poems in here that I found elsewhere and have come back to, over and over for years. This is absolutely stuffed with gems, really an embarrassment of riches. Nobody writes more beautifully of destiny and time. There is not a single book of poetry I love more.
"You can lie at a banquet, but you have to be honest in the kitchen."
This book was sort of a mixed bag of poems for me. I certainly expected more poems about Oregon or the Oregon experience. But it's a blend of poems and moments for people from all over. The book is broken into 5 sections focused on different experiences.
There are certainly some haunting lines and things to make you smile.
Personal and provocative poems, reflections on life and nature and time and timelessness. Some are hard to grasp, even with multiple readings; others grab me by the heart, knowing my own life as even I do. Overall, beautiful.
This poet had a beautiful poem about a burp! It was fantastic. Not my favorite poet, but still some very very good things....like "Sometimes you don't know something, until suddenly, you do."