In this monthly reading odyssey, we’ve read wildly, and for the last year or so we’ve read deeply. As we look toward the new year, we are going to read wisely.
Tweetspeak Poetry’s 2020 theme is Wisdom, and this column will examine the wisdom found in reading together. Our guide for this journey is the poet William Stafford.
Unlike some poets, whose mission is to explore and to question, Stafford’s is to declare. He’s been called preachy. Well, maybe what we all need right now is a poet to preach to us. Because we know without being told what will happen if we do not have A Ritual to Read to Each Other. It is already happening. We all feel a bit lost.
It’s been said that Stafford’s poems are always west of where we are, and this one will be our map for the entire year, pushing us to our personal western edge. So grab the tail of the elephant in front of you, and let’s set out.
A Ritual to Read to Each Other
If you don’t know the kind of person I am
and I don’t know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dike.
And as elephants parade holding each elephant’s tail,
but if one wanders the circus won’t find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.
And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.
For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give — yes or no, or maybe —
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.
—William Stafford
If this poem is declaring, it’s saying we need each other. But in its declaration, this poem is playing with style: blank verse style.
Blank verse, traditionally, is a poem written in iambic pentameter (five beats per line), but the lines don’t rhyme. It wasn’t until I was three weeks into reading this one aloud every afternoon, with my cup of tea, after listening to The Slowdown, that I realized the pattern. Then I read it again and counted the beats on my fingers. Yep, five in every one. Except in this line:
“lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.”
I count six.
“lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.”
That means that the line that talks about getting lost in the dark is literally the line that gets lost from the form of blank verse. It goes rogue and adds a sixth beat.
I see what you did there, Stafford.
And isn’t that what life feels like, when we get lost in darkness? There’s too much. We’re burdened with this wretched extra beat. Help! we cry, I’m stuck with an elephant who doesn’t know the way!
Or perhaps our cry is, Help! I’ve just realized there are real live snakes surrounding my home sweet home!
To launch this new reading column, I returned to a book I’ve loved before, a short memoir called Rattlesnake Stories by Anna Mitchael. It addresses the changes wrought by motherhood and our need to face our fears. In Mitchael’s book, that fear is represented by rattlesnakes — the snakes that live on the ranch she calls home with her two small boys. How she listens to that fear and moves herself west of where she ever wanted to go was worth reading again.
If I were to take Mitchael’s book and cast it the form of Stafford’s poem (albeit without the blank verse), it would go something like this:
If you don’t know the kind of person I am (terrified of snakes)
and I don’t know the kind of person you are (seemingly not-terrified of snakes)
a pattern that the oddsmaker made may prevail
and following advice from the wrong girlfriend I may miss a picture worth 10,000 words.
For there are many snakes in bluebonnet season,
a slither that alerts you to danger
sending even young men in boots hopping away
from a perch where rattlers sunbathe.
And as old men gather for Styrofoam cups of coffee,
and if one bursts in with news the others will listen politely:
though they won’t believe it until they inspect the evidence
to know when it is truly snake season.
And so I appeal to children, who want to see the herpetarium,
to dogs, who stick their noses where they shouldn’t:
though we are all afraid, we should consider—
lest we encounter one on a morning run.
For it is important that fearful people face their fears,
or torpor may imprison them inside their homes;
the games we play with our children—20 Questions or What Animal Am I—
should be honest: the world is a dangerous place.
Let’s face it together, friends. Join us each month and share your own wise reads in the comments or online, using the hashtag #readwisdomtoeachother and tagging us @tspoetry.
Your turn
1. What stories have you turned to in times of fear?
2. Is there a poem that is speaking wisdom to your soul?
3. Share your November pages. Sliced, started, and abandoned are all fair game.
Photo by Andrew Gustar, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Megan Willome.
To learn more about the wisdom of this poem, read author Parker Palmer’s post at On Being
To see a poet at work, check out Stafford’s draft copy of this poem
Browse more about William Stafford
“Megan Willome’s The Joy of Poetry is not a long book, but it took me longer to read than I expected, because I kept stopping to savor poems and passages, to make note of books mentioned, and to compare Willome’s journey into poetry to my own. The book is many things. An unpretentious, funny, and poignant memoir. A defense of poetry, a response to literature that has touched her life, and a manual on how to write poetry. It’s also the story of a daughter who loses her mother to cancer. The author links these things into a narrative much like that of a novel. I loved this book. As soon as I finished, I began reading it again.”
—David Lee Garrison, author of Playing Bach in the D. C. Metro
- Perspective: The Two, The Only: Calvin and Hobbes - December 16, 2022
- Children’s Book Club: A Very Haunted Christmas - December 9, 2022
- By Heart: ‘The night is darkening round me’ by Emily Brontë - December 2, 2022
L.L. Barkat says
There is *so* much to love about this post. One of my favorite moments is: “Help!” we cry, “I’m stuck with an elephant who doesn’t know the way!” Indeed. 🙂
I never noticed about that “lost” line being a different set of beats. I do know that nothing I expect ever happens in Stafford’s poem. The whole thing keeps a person awake, especially if that person is trying to memorize and unconsciously keeps wishing for the obvious to happen, to help him make his way.
Stories I’ve turned to in times of fear: A Wrinkle in Time; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Poems: Dover Beach, Ozymandias.
Megan Willome says
On Stafford, I tried to memorize this poem all November and failed. I have maybe half the lines, but not like the first half or the second half–just random lines that add up to half the poem. Nothing obvious at all. But I’m glad it kept me company for a month, just to help me write the post and to begin to point the way toward wisdom for the column in 2020.
L.L. Barkat says
I had to use an array of strategies to finally get it memorized (like, for example, noting that the two “For” stanzas sandwich two “And” stanzas).
Maybe that is fitting, after all. Wisdom is hard won. Wisdom depends on more than one element. And, to be wise is to know these things, as well.
I will appreciate this poem’s company in 2020. And yours, as you follow the tail of it.
Richard Maxson says
Megan, perfect post to kick off the coming year at Tweetspeak. We have used this Stafford poem twice in Every Day Poems. I wanted to use it again but we used it less than a year ago, so I am very happy to see it here.
What a time in history for a year of Wisdom (upper case intentional).
Whether I am feeling fearful or not I reread Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance often. It not only addresses our fears to be struggled against, but it flips that coin as well to the things we might be better off fearing.
“For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dike.”
I enjoyed your personalization of Stafford’s poem, showing we need to “be awake.” Your poem is very grounded (snakes cannot soar). I like that most about it. The world is a dangerous place, while it teems with wonder.
The galaxy cradles us
like a child
even as the earth leans
into darkness
I also like to read Tracy K. Smith’s poem “The Largeness We Can’t See” when I feel overwhelmed by snakes and darkness. She writes:
“All that we see grows
Into the ground. And all we live blind to
Leans its deathless heft to our ears
and sings.”
Megan Willome says
Rick, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” has been on my list for years. Now that I know it can speak to a time of fear, it may move up.
And although I don’t know that particular poem of Tracy K. Smith’s, many of her others have spoken to me as well. She gets at something deep, something of the cosmos.
Richard Maxson says
The Poem by Smith is in her book “Life On Mars” for which she won the Pulitzer. Her father was one of the engineers who worked on the Hubble telescope.
Zen speaks to many things. I think the Stafford poem and Pirsig’s book speak to a fear that we are too insignificant as individuals to make a difference to the Earth, so we abdicate the power we have to change things to “more powerful authorities or systems.” Pirsig makes this point through his views on motorcycle maintenance, while on a road trip with his son and two friends. When you talk about deep reading, it is one of the deepest books I’ve ever read and continues to speak with every reread.
Glynn says
I think my reading is always a bit on the wild side.
Books read in November:
Mystery
The Quayside Murder by Roy Lewis
Redcar Collector by Glenn McGoldrick
Eighteen Months by Glenn McGoldrick
The Adventure of the Spectred Bat by Craig Stephen Copland
The Case of the Attic Door by Christopher Greyson
The Return of Napoleon by Craig Stephen Copland
Midwinter Mysteries: A Christmas Crime Anthology
The Missing Nurse by Roger Silverwood
Spitfire Roundabout by Glenn McGoldrick
Children’s Books
Poppy Field by Michael Morpurgo
Fiction
The Bastard Princess by Gemma Lawrence
At First Sight by Kay Lyons
Friendly Persuasion by Jo Huddleston
Hometown Promise by Merrill Whren
Adjustments by Will Willingham
This Tender Land by William Kent Kreuger
Irish Wishes by Kristine Tate
An Irish Heart by Jackie Zack
Non-fiction
Poppies: Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red
Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner
Poetry
September 1, 1939: The Biography of a Poem by Ian Sansom
Anatomy of a Dress: Poems by Juliette Van Der Molen
Bravery & Brevity: Poems by Edward Holmes
Signposts to Elsewhere by Yahia Lababidi
Faith
Having the Dream? by Tristan Sherwin
Megan Willome says
Yes, it is Glynn, and I love it.
Is the children’s poppy book about WW1.
Will Willingham says
Sure, all we need is to be following an elephant around who has no idea where she’s going, right? Lol.
Stafford’s poem has been, for me, a touchstone. It’s the thing I’ve come back to many times over the past few years, looking for that elephant’s tail. There is within it such a sense of personal responsibility, of community life, of our relationship to the world around us. The darkness is, at times, just that deep. I had not heard the western reference to Stafford, and I’m intrigued by it. And I’m looking forward to how you lead us together in that westward direction this coming year.
The weaving of this poem with the snakes is quite wonderful. 🙂
Megan Willome says
Will, your longtime engagement with this poem is so helpful. I’ll be carrying it forward with me as I spend 2020 digging into the wisdom found in Stafford’s words.
Glad you liked my pairing of elephants and snakes. It’s a bit bizarre, but so is Stafford, in his own way.