#william stafford
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you’ve still got time
tiny beautiful things, cheryl strayed | wild geese, mary oliver | anna akhmatova | tuesday, alex dimitrov | sunrise, louise glück | just thinking, william stafford | night walk, franz wright | why be happy when you could be normal?, jeanette winterson
#crumpch#parallels#lyric parallels#poetry#web weaving#literature#cheryl strayed#mary oliver#anna akhmatova#alex dimitrov#louise glück#william stafford#franz wright#jeanette winterson
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William Stafford, “Assurance”
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you reading this, be ready by William Stafford
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Let the bucket of memory down into the well, bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No one stirring, no plans. Just being there.
-- William Stafford
(lake Zurich, Switzerland)
#memories#calmness#being there#william stafford#travel photography#calm#switzerland#lake zurich#night photography#moon#reflections
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Any Morning
by William Stafford
Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.
People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.
Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won't even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.
Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.
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"What can anyone give you greater than now" William Stafford
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"You'll always underestimate how much innocence you have left to lose."
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The Way It Is
There's a thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.
-William Stafford
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It is important that awake people be awake. . .
The signals we give: yes, and no, or maybe should be clear.
The darkness around us is deep.
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Our story
Remind me again—together we
trace our strange journey, find
each other, come on laughing.
Some time we’ll cross where life
ends. We’ll both look back
as far as forever, that first day.
I’ll touch you—a new world then.
Stars will move a different way.
We’ll both end. We’ll both begin.
Remind me again.
– William Stafford, “Our Story,” Stories That Could Be True: New and Collected Poems (Harper & Row, 1977) (via The Vale of Soul Making)
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When there was air, when you could
breathe any day if you liked, and if you
wanted to you could run. I used to
climb those hills back of town and
follow a gully so my eyes were at ground
level and could look out through grass as the
stems
bent in their tensile way, and see snow
mountains follow along, the way distance goes.
Now I carry those days in a tiny box
wherever I go, I open the lid like this
and let the light glimpse and then glance away.
There is a sigh like my breath when I do this.
Some days I do this again and again.
William Stafford, from The Darkness Around Us Is Deep
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William Stafford, “Just Thinking,” in Ask Me
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It could happen any time, tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.
It could, you know. That’s why we wake
and look out – no guarantees
in this life.
But some bonuses, like morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.
‘Yes’, from The Way It Is, William Stafford
@graywolfpress 1988
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The more you let yourself be distracted from where you are going, the more you are the person that you are. It's not so much like getting lost as it is like getting found.
-- William Stafford
(Chambery, France)
#getting lost#old buildings#finding yourself#william stafford#travel photography#chambery#france#quote
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Why I Am Happy
by William Stafford
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
gracefully.
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.
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