nc_guy

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.