A friend of mine and I got to talking about poetry recently. Poetry is something that I like, but I don't read enough of it like I should. I thought back to a Poetry class that I took in college for an elective. I remembered this great poem that we studied in that class:
"Traveling Through the Dark" by William Stafford.
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us allmy only swerving,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
That is one of the best poems that I have ever read. The imagery is so vivid. Also, the author does a fantastic job of conveying his struggle on what to do next in regards to the unborn fawn. This will always be one of my favorites.
"Traveling Through the Dark" by William Stafford.
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us allmy only swerving,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
That is one of the best poems that I have ever read. The imagery is so vivid. Also, the author does a fantastic job of conveying his struggle on what to do next in regards to the unborn fawn. This will always be one of my favorites.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
Wicked band list, talk about a mix
"Discover and conceive the secret wealth
And pass it unto your breed
Become your own congregation
Measure the sovereignty of it's invigoration"