April 1, 2005--12:05 am--Sacramento, CA
In honor of National Poetry Month, I plan to post a poem every day in April, 2010. Offerings will be either one of my favorite poems or a poem written by me.
I often tell my students that poems have saved my life.
Of course, I admit to them that sounds terribly dramatic--yet, in so many ways, it resounds with such truth.
I love the condensed collection of words that bring such unexpected responses--sometimes quiet, sometimes humorous, often magical and important.
My first poem will be by the poet William Stafford. This poems is one of my very favorites. One of the reasons I like it so much is because, for me, it seems to be so universal. It reminds me of how difficult it can be to make a decision, which makes life so exciting and so frustrating.
| Traveling Through The Dark |
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| | Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
William Stafford |
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The ache is indeed palpable; however, the realist in me wanted the speaker to perform an emergency c-section. Rescue the fawn, rush it to some country vet and then there would be a story on Oprah later in the year. You know the ones she occasionally does, her favorite animals. Of course, the story would bring the audience, and Oprah, to tears. That's what I wanted. But as life tells, rarely do we get what we wanted. We get what we get.
ReplyDeleteThe line in that poem which actually gave me a chill was the matter-of-fact: "to swerve might make more dead."
ReplyDeleteThank you for this poem! I hope the next one you post is by one of my favorites, Catherine Fraga.
Good luck with your new blog. The poem you chose to start with was stunning.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Diane...I am glad you found Stafford's poem memorable.
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