Monday, April 30, 2007

Am I the Last One To Know About This?

Did you know April is National Poetry Month? Apparently they don't talk about this on sites I frequent. But I was recently reading a blog of someone I don't really know who mentioned it. This internet thing really does brings us all together, right.

It's the last day of the month but I wanted to throw my hat in the ring and share one of my favorites. William Stafford is an amazing poet, so simple and clear but descriptive. And I have so many memories attached to him. My sophomore year in college, I took a poetry class and met a guy named Nathan, my official unrequited crush of 1992. He was from Portland, so beautiful, a renaissance man, loved science, our poetry professor actually had to tell him to stop turing in poetry he had turned in so much, and we could talk for hours. I later found out that he, of course, had a girlfriend. But he sparked the kindling of my interest in Oregon. He xeroxed William Stafford poems for me and every few weeks I got packets of them to pore over.

Enough about Nathan, let's get back to William, in the introduction to his collection of poems, An Oregon Message, he says, "I must be willingly fallible in order to deserve a place in the realm where miracles happen." Isn't that inspiring, that my failings, mistakes, and weaknesses allow me to be part of miracles.

So here's one of my favorites:

Why I Am Happy

Now has come, an easy time. I let it
roll. There is a lake somewhere
so blue and far nobody owns it.
A wind comes by and a willow listens

I hear all this, every summer. I laugh
and cry for every turn of the world,
its terribly cold, innocent spin.
That lake stays blue and free; it goes
on and on.

And I know where it is.


Ninny Beth said...

thanks for the spot of poetry ansley! I love the idea of fallibility making us able to be part of miracles! April is a good month for poetry.

Lizzy said...

Walt Whitman will always be my favorite. Song of Myself.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Moonbird said...

hey I found you again today. Hi Ansley, beautiful girl from my Portland past...:)

Oh and we like the same music.
(I just looked at your list here...)