I worked all day on a poem yesterday. The days before I was preparing for my part in hosting an annual William Stafford celebration night at the university. While doing so I ran across an unusual poem he wrote in the 1950s. The speaker in a poem is observing a Klamath Indian celebration of the berry picking harvest along the Klamath River, which flows along a portion of the California and Oregon border.
The speaker of the poem is not Stafford himself, as the speaker/narrator know less about the cultural practices of the klamath people, although is respectful. The speaker refers to the principal dancer as "the war chief", when there would be no such person in the 1950s reservation era. Stafford himself would know this. The dancer resembles a shaman in music and movement, but the era of shamanism was long gone at the point under missionary and compulsary bording school pressure. So the speaker misidentifies the performance as a war dance.
The speaker admits to envying the war chief, mistakingly thinking he had been isolated from the traumas of mainstream americans alive at the time. WWII, The Depression, etc.. The poem identifies none of these traumas, onky has the speaker say he envies the reservation indian, displaying an unawarness of the mid century and earlier traumas on the reservation, which at that time the United State Government was liquidating under the federal Indian Tribal Termination policy
The Therein lies the subtle dislocation of the actual reality and the speakers. Stafford himself was a WWII conscientious objector, serving in the military as a non-combatant. He was well aware of what was going on.
Stafford was never a poet who preaches or explains. The explaining is deep in the subtext of of the poem and comes to those who come to the poem knowing something of the situation.
Here is the poem I was looking at:
At the Klamath Berry Festival

by William Stafford


The war chief danced the old way —
The eagle wing he held before his mouth —
and when he turned the boom-boom
stopped. He took took two steps. A sociologist

was there; the Scout troop danced.

I envied him the places where he had not been.


The boom began again. Outside he heard
the stick game and the Blackfoot gamblers
arguing at poker under lanterns.
Still-moccasined and bashful, holding
the eagle wing before his mouth,
listening and listening, he danced after others stopped.


He took two steps, the boom caught up,
the mountains rose, the still deep river
slid but never broke its quiet.
I looked back when I left:
He took two steps, he took two steps,
past the sociologist.



E. Writer The poem I remember most by Robert Frost is Mending Wall and the line, Good fences make good neighbors, jolted me.
Roy Scarbrough Yes that's memorable as well. In that one the speaker entertain thoughts that mock his neighbors practicality. He kind of makes fun of his neighbor for saying "Good fences make good neighbors", but only in his own mind. The speaker is aloof, but it is usually clear to the reader that there is something of real value for neighbors working on a project together. It does not seem that the speaker of the poem realizes that. The speaker does not so much like a wall, but begrudingly helps his neighbor maintain it.
E. Writer I always say the fence (or even the wall) is a metaphor for the barrier between the neighbors. That the subject would rather have a fence as a neighbor, than to interact with the narrator. Good fences make good neighbors. The Mending Wall to me symbolized a barrier between the two people. The trees and pines acting as a barrier and highlights their differences. one growing fruit, the other pine needles as if to reflect his prickly nature. I felt the narrator did not feel the wall was necessary while the subject of the poem, his neighbor, believed that the best neighbor he could have was a fence. It's interesting how we can look at the same poem and extract such different meanings.
Roy Scarbrough I think we are supposed to see it in more than one possible way.
E. Writer Yes, the beauty of poetry :)