  Poetry
This week: William Stafford Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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The Light By The Barn
by William Stafford
The light by the barn that shines all night
pales at dawn when a little breeze comes.
A little breeze comes breathing the fields
from their sleep and waking the slow windmill.
The slow windmill sings the long day
about anguish and loss to the chickens at work.
The little breeze follows the slow windmill
and the chickens at work till the sun goes down--
Then the light by the barn again.
Waking at 3 a.m.
by William Stafford
Even in the cave of the night when you
wake and are free and lonely,
neglected by others, discarded, loved only
by what doesn't matter--even in that
big room no one can see,
you push with your eyes till forever
comes in its twisted figure eight
and lies down in your head.
You think water in the river;
you think slower than the tide in
the grain of the wood; you become
a secret storehouse that saves the country,
so open and foolish and empty.
You look over all that the darkness
ripples across. More than has ever
been found comforts you. You open your
eyes in a vault that unlocks as fast
and as far as your thought can run.
A great snug wall goes around everything,
has always been there, will always
remain. It is a good world to be
lost in. It comforts you. It is
all right. And you sleep.
On January 17, 1914 Ruby Mayher and Earl Ingersoll Stafford of Hutchinson, Kansas, welcomed William Edgar Stafford into their family. William was the oldest of three children. During the Depression William's father moved the family around a lot looking for work. Once Stafford was old enough he started working to help his family any way he could. He delivered papers, worked the sugar fields and served as an electrician’s mate all while going to school. He graduated from Liberal Kansas in 1933 and then attended two different community colleges before going to University of Kansas.Stafford graduated from the University of Kansas in 1937.
Stafford was enrolled in college to earn his master's degree in English when he was drafted to serve in World War II. Stafford worked in camps in Arkansas, California, and Illinois earning $2.50 per month for his assigned duties. In 1944 while working in California Stafford met Dorothy Frantz, a minister’s daughter. the two eventually married. Following the war Stafford taught at a high school and then went back to finish his master’s degree. Stafford wrote his master's thesis on his time spent as a conscientious objector during the war. It, was published as a book of prose, ”Down in My Heart,” in 1947.
Upon receiving his master’s degree Stafford moved to Oregon and began teaching at Lewis and Clark College. He spent the next thirty-two years teaching at the college and retired in 1980. During his time teaching he often traveled and read his work as a guest speaker. Stafford published, “Traveling Through the Dark,” was published in 1962, when Stafford was forty-eight years old. collection won the National Book Award in 1963. All Together Stafford published over sixty-five volumes of poetry and prose. Some of his most notable books were “The Rescued Year,” in 1966 followed by “Stories That Could Be True: New and Collected Poems,” in 1977, and “Writing the Australian Crawl: Views on the Writer's Vocation” in 1978.
Stafford received many honors and awards over his lifetime among them were Shelley Memorial Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship and a Western States Lifetime Achievement Award in Poetry. William Stafford died at his home in Lake Oswego, Oregon, on August 28, 1993.
When I Met My Muse
by William Stafford
I glanced at her and took my glasses
off--they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
Down on the farm,
the old Dodge has seen better days.
When fields still yielded all that maize,
we drove the truck down Fisher Road
to make payments on mortgage owed
down on the farm.
In bygone times,
we rose every morning before
the rooster crowed to start our chores,
while the dew remained upon the rose
and pigpen scents caressed my nose
in bygone times.
When we were young,
wild creatures charmed innocent tots,
but deer and rabbits killed the crops.
We wrote with paper and pencil,
and "pot" meant cooking utensil,
when we were young.
From dawn to dusk,
we cultivated rows of dreams
beneath the sun's relentless beams.
Grandpa pulled handkerchief to wipe
his sweaty brow without a gripe
from dawn to dusk.
Back in the day,
the truck hauled loads of corn and beans
to O'Malley's Market in town,
then Homecoming Queen in her gown,
because we had no limousines
back in the day.
When work was done,
we dropped tailgate and gazed at stars,
watching for Jupiter and Mars.
Imagination took us there,
as we rested without a care
when work was done.
Down on the farm,
shadows of that past linger still
on the slopes of Mockingbird Hill.
Now, the old Dodge can only haul
tons of fond memories for us all
down on the farm.
Honorable mention:
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Poetry: July 22, 2015 Issue [#7114]
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