A Sense of Place / New England Poetry Hoedown!

While we’re still letting thoughts of history and summing up linger, here’s something that makes me think hard and laugh hard, too.

Confessions of an Individual

William Stafford

I let history happen - sorry. When Muslims and

Christians fought in the Crusades, I didn't stop it;

the Egyptians and Jews clashed and my efforts were not

sufficient to prevent that. Remote effects from these

disasters still exist, and I have not erased them.

My ancestors were busy cutting hay, planting potatoes,

and so on. True, they probably spent a lot of time drinking

and talking, and let that go on for years - I can't deny it.

On the other hand, a group of people discovered wheat,

corn, smelting of iron, prevention of disease, and I didn't

help very much. Heroic actions took place, and I didn't

even take the trouble to be there.

Now I am taking the time to think about all this and

write it down. And you are taking the time to read it.

I appreciate Stafford’s tone, especially his humor. I’m not as well-versed in his work as I’d like to be. Living in the Pacific Northwest for a few years now, I should really get more acquainted with the local lit heroes. It was a lot easier when I lived in Boston.

I could read Robert Lowell as I took the Red Line to the Harvard Square Tower Records where I worked. If I felt snooty I always had Melville and Hawthorne to entertain, frighten and perplex me. I even got to see Robert Pinsky introduce Louise Glück at a BU lecture.

In Seattle the heroes are less, well, heroic. There’s Sherman Alexie, referee of Tonto’s fistfight with the Lone Ranger; Richard Hugo, who wrote something that knocked me out in high school and about which I’ll write later; and of course Theodore Roethke, whose father apparently wanted him to be a dancer and frequently gave him lessons. (He was pretty ungrateful.)

Big names, certainly, but you don’t have Literature Tourism here like you find in New England. This is not really a bad thing, since that kind of Disneyfies the whole affair. I picture Emily Dickinson as Snow White and the Transcendentalists as the Country Bear Jamboree. See for yourself:

So I’d like to have a better sense of the literary history of the area, but I’d much rather have a sense of what’s being written here now. It’s not that hard a thing, it just takes planning and effort to go to readings and events, be a part of an organization. I’m not much of a joiner. I think that’s part of why people write in the first place - if you had someone to talk to, you wouldn’t need to scribble things down all the time.

I appreciate Stafford’s letting me have it both ways - I’m one individual, more or less helpless against the tides and forces that make up my era. But so are we all - and there’s something quiet but strong about taking the time to write things down. And there’s something quiet but strong about reading it.