2 posts tagged “william stafford”
I began the summer by reading Judith Kitchen's examination of William Stafford's poetic works, Writing the World: Understanding William Stafford. There is simply not enough critical writing on Stafford's voluminous body of work. Here it becomes clear that his crisp, yet complicated, approach to writing grew from a lifetime of peaceful engagement with ambivalence. Ambivalence? Maybe that is the wrong word. It is more like Stafford was resolute in his commitment to not pushing himself or others around. He was a pacifist inside and out, and that included not being pushy about pacifism.
Like so many literary critics, Kitchen has the ability to crack open a poem. Her comments on internal sound relationships between words in "Traveling Through the Dark" is worth the price of the book (by the way it is on remainder at Powell's Books).
In the end, it fits with my summer theme because it is a story about beliefs. Stafford believed that language matters and it is important to teach language to incline toward peace. He brought about peace by reminding all of us of our own humanity, fragility, and open-ended mystery. He was not an Oregon poet, Kansas poet, or U.S. poet. Stafford was a poet-philosopher who helped the world understand what it means to be a human being.
In an apparant contrast to Kitchen's book, I finally read Sam Harris' The End of Faith, one of my new favorite books. Like Letters to a Christian Nation, Harris is rough on liberal theists for their blind tolerance of irrational thinking from their more radical bretheren. To that end, he actually defends more extreme theologies as a more adequate representation of the texts that they celebrate.
Some people my criticize Harris as being anti-spiritiual or angry. These people have not read the entire book. Harris, like Stafford, is a passionate advocate for love, compassion, humility, mystery, and spirituatlity. What he really wants to see is a world in which people use their heads and openly invite civilization forward. Also, he makes a compelling argument supporting the dangers in not helping the world abandon theism. For anybody concerned about the rold of religion in current affairs, this book is a must read.
For me, the most challenging section of the book was Harris' critique of pacifism. I will write about pacifism in a seperate blog post. It is an issue worthy of its very own mini-essay.
Last night I finished Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams. I am reading it as part of a book club at work. Like the Kitchen and Harris books, it dealt with how people fold belief into their experience of suffering. Kingsolver seems to take a more mythopoeic approach to faith than Harris, Stafford, or Kitchen; though, she does seem a bit like Stafford.
A chapter toward the end of the book called "Ground Orientation" dragged as a muddled through the history of one of the main character, but the rest of the book chugged along like a fast train in the barren desert. I liked it, but I did not love it. I'll tell the truth, it made me cry. It had the quality of a really well made Hollywodd film, but it did not bring me toward seeing the world in any kind of new way. It did remind me of the power of love, death, and family. Three things that we cannot forget when we want to find love in a world that offers up question marks and suffering alongside sunrises and open sky.
Like so many literary critics, Kitchen has the ability to crack open a poem. Her comments on internal sound relationships between words in "Traveling Through the Dark" is worth the price of the book (by the way it is on remainder at Powell's Books).
In the end, it fits with my summer theme because it is a story about beliefs. Stafford believed that language matters and it is important to teach language to incline toward peace. He brought about peace by reminding all of us of our own humanity, fragility, and open-ended mystery. He was not an Oregon poet, Kansas poet, or U.S. poet. Stafford was a poet-philosopher who helped the world understand what it means to be a human being.
In an apparant contrast to Kitchen's book, I finally read Sam Harris' The End of Faith, one of my new favorite books. Like Letters to a Christian Nation, Harris is rough on liberal theists for their blind tolerance of irrational thinking from their more radical bretheren. To that end, he actually defends more extreme theologies as a more adequate representation of the texts that they celebrate.
Some people my criticize Harris as being anti-spiritiual or angry. These people have not read the entire book. Harris, like Stafford, is a passionate advocate for love, compassion, humility, mystery, and spirituatlity. What he really wants to see is a world in which people use their heads and openly invite civilization forward. Also, he makes a compelling argument supporting the dangers in not helping the world abandon theism. For anybody concerned about the rold of religion in current affairs, this book is a must read.
For me, the most challenging section of the book was Harris' critique of pacifism. I will write about pacifism in a seperate blog post. It is an issue worthy of its very own mini-essay.
Last night I finished Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams. I am reading it as part of a book club at work. Like the Kitchen and Harris books, it dealt with how people fold belief into their experience of suffering. Kingsolver seems to take a more mythopoeic approach to faith than Harris, Stafford, or Kitchen; though, she does seem a bit like Stafford.
A chapter toward the end of the book called "Ground Orientation" dragged as a muddled through the history of one of the main character, but the rest of the book chugged along like a fast train in the barren desert. I liked it, but I did not love it. I'll tell the truth, it made me cry. It had the quality of a really well made Hollywodd film, but it did not bring me toward seeing the world in any kind of new way. It did remind me of the power of love, death, and family. Three things that we cannot forget when we want to find love in a world that offers up question marks and suffering alongside sunrises and open sky.
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.
