By Kim Stafford, William Stafford
"In our time there was no poet who revived human hearts and spirits extra convincingly than William Stafford." —Naomi Shihab Nye
Some time while the river is ice ask me
mistakes i've got made. inquire from me whether
what i've got performed is my life.
—from "Ask Me"
In party of the poet's centennial, Ask Me collects 100 of William Stafford's crucial poems. As a conscientious objector in the course of global battle II, whereas assigned to Civilian Public provider camps Stafford begun his day-by-day writing perform, a lifelong early-morning ritual of witness. His poetry finds the results of violence, the day-by-day necessity of ethical judgements, and the bounty of paintings. chosen and with a notice through Kim Stafford, Ask Me provides the easiest from a profound and unique American voice.
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Additional resources for Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems of William Stafford
And sometimes I'm like a bough Which bends alone, Which is racked alone, Which weeps and sings alone, Which cringes alone Like a paper bird 37 Ca o pasare in foi. i sintem doi.
27 JIGNIRE Nepretuind granitul, o, fecioara! Din care-as fi putut sa ti-1 cioplesc, Am cautat in lutul ruminesc Trupul tau zvelt si cu miros de ceara. Am luat pamint salbatic din padure Si-am framintat cu mina de olar, In parte, fiecare madular, A1 fintei tale mici, de cremene usure. Zmaltindu-ti ochii, luai tipar verbina, Drept pleoape, foi adinci de trandafiri, Pentru sprincene firele subtiri De iarba noua ce-a-ntepat lumina. Luai pilda pentru trunchi de la urcioare, Si daca-n sini si sold a-ntirziat Mina-mi aprinsa, eu sint vinovat Ca n-am oprit statuia-n cingatoare Si c-am voit sa simta si sa umble Si sa se-ndoaie-n pipaitul meu, De chinul dulce dat de Dumnezeu, Care-a trecut prin mine si te umple.
Am I to beat time's mire with closed eyes? Shall dolts strip me of my cloak on the road, sneering, tavern-drunk ? Like butterflies who endure the caterpillar bearing them through the dust, Shall I endure within me the burden of two lives ? A man, no less worn out, will open in the morning My commemorative tomb. With immaculate hand Break me, death-changed into bread, To pieces in the sun. And to my brothers who follow, he whispers he'll share me out. But the day that passes in its passing wounds Humbles my staff and bends my lilies low.
Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems of William Stafford by Kim Stafford, William Stafford