By Kim Stafford
Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.
In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,
a song—and in a little while, behold:
the first glimmer comes, then a glow
filters through the misty trees,
then the bold sun rises, then
everyone starts bustling about.
And that first crazy optimist, can we
forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn,
“Hey, I made that happen!
And oh, life is so fine.”
About This Poem
“Many times in my life I’ve been told by serious people that I must be very naïve to be happy, to have hope, to celebrate this little life I’ve been given when, actually, they say, everything is pretty dire. There’s war, poverty, crushing injustice all over—what right do I have to talk back to all that with flimsy little poems about the good? What can I say? The birds are my teachers, my elders, my guides. Every day before dawn, in silence and darkness, I’m at my desk making poems on the page. And then, before light, I hear the first bird outside begin to sing.”
—Kim Stafford
Thank you for posting this poem. I enjoyed reading it and reading about it. Have you read Kim Stafford's "Five Poems for Ukraine"? If not, here is the link to them: https://www.rattle.com/five-poems-for-ukraine-by-kim-stafford
ReplyDeleteMonty, Stafford's poems are amazing. Thanks for sharing them.
ReplyDeleteHis father's poems are amazing. His father was American poet and pacifist William Stafford (1914-1993), one of my favorite poets (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Stafford_(poet).
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