A Very Real Poet
by Gail Denham

Often, passing the road to his house, I’d
imagine his daily routine. William Stafford,
Oregon’s esteemed Poet Laureate for years,
remains a favorite. I’d visualize his morning
routine, rising early, and writing his daily
poem, which he’d post that day. Inspiring.

Stafford writes “ our house was alive … It had
a song.:* Stafford’s poetry is real, down to earth.
I’m glad for his simplicity. At times, reading
Stafford’s poems, I might feel he’s going round
the barn, twice, but then the meaning appears.

In his poem “For My Young Friends Who Are
Afraid,” Stafford writes: “That country is there,
for us,” … What you fear will not go away …
That’s the world, and we all live there.”*

Often, I must chew on meanings, yet I gain
insight. “Big trees get together … whisper
their stories … I whine now and then when the
door opens or the wind carries what is out there
too near the room”*

Stafford’s poetry is personal. He was present.
He noticed. “deer and elk spelled out their
trails.”* Often Stafford gave voice to
inanimate objects. “At the edge of town
darkness comes forward … opens its arms.”*

Stafford served on the Lewis and Clark
College staff, led workshops around
the U.S. and wrote many books.
I do regret not attending any of his classes.

When I read Stafford’s books, I feel I know
him, his family, and most especially I admire
his outlook on life. I wish to emulate his writings.


*Quotes are from Stafford’s books:
Traveling Through The Dark
I Would Also Like To Mention Aluminum
My Name Is William Tell



 

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