1 post tagged “communes”
Someday, Maybe
by William Stafford, 1973
available at: http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/SearchResults?sts=t&an=William+Stafford&y=13&tn=Someday%2C+Maybe&x=65
by William Stafford, 1973
available at: http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/SearchResults?sts=t&an=William+Stafford&y=13&tn=Someday%2C+Maybe&x=65
Someday, Maybe, written shortly after William Stafford's stint as the Poetry Consultant for the Library of Congress, should be read straight through as an essay on freedom and friendship. Freedom, for Stafford, seems to be a matter of choice. "If you are oppressed," he argues, "wake up about/four in the morning: most places,/you can usually be free some of the time/ if you wake up before other people." The theme of individual, internal freedom is echoed in "For a Child Gone to Live in a Commune" when Stafford recalls, "I forgot to tell you: this house too/is a wanderer." Indeed, Stafford wanders in the direction of truth-tinged things.
Friendship is a tool invoked by Stafford with the prayer, "Help me do right." For help with the right course, he is a supplicant to the moon, "you old, unsinkable submarine, leaf admirer." In "Old Dog" we find the same kind of familiarity toward "a good last friend" before they "looked a slow bargain." Friendship, for Stafford, seems to be a practice involving slow leans toward rugged honesty, possibly a mutual gravity.
The book's title breathes through "The Eskimo National Anthem" with Stafford nodding toward a "life that never amounts to anything" where "what I intended never gets done" might be resolved in "a kind of comfort" from the song, "someday, maybe." Whatever William Stafford's intentions, something is getting done with his words in the world. They remain a true friend pointing to the moon for many wanders in stable houses.
Friendship is a tool invoked by Stafford with the prayer, "Help me do right." For help with the right course, he is a supplicant to the moon, "you old, unsinkable submarine, leaf admirer." In "Old Dog" we find the same kind of familiarity toward "a good last friend" before they "looked a slow bargain." Friendship, for Stafford, seems to be a practice involving slow leans toward rugged honesty, possibly a mutual gravity.
The book's title breathes through "The Eskimo National Anthem" with Stafford nodding toward a "life that never amounts to anything" where "what I intended never gets done" might be resolved in "a kind of comfort" from the song, "someday, maybe." Whatever William Stafford's intentions, something is getting done with his words in the world. They remain a true friend pointing to the moon for many wanders in stable houses.
