I heard Stafford read just a few weeks (days?) before he passed at a writing conference in Port Angeles, WA., so likely it was his last public performance. (I crashed this conference with my ex-wife: she had an official invitation, I did not--but that's a story for another time.) Anyway, Stafford was the featured poet at the final gathering of the conference, and he was a magical presence. Everyone in attendance, I presume, knew who he was--it was a writing conference, after all--but I'm convinced that had this reading been someone's very first introduction to the man, they would have immediately and intuitively grasped that they were in the presence of a true bodhisattva: he simply radiated a gentle, all-accepting wisdom, and he had an aura of kindness that was nearly palpable. And while he certainly must have known he was in front of a crowd of people who revered him, he seemed so humble you wanted to reassure him: "No, Mr. Stafford, you're truly a great poet. Really!" Thanks for this poem: it reminded me that I probably need to read some more Stafford poetry.
I heard Stafford read just a few weeks (days?) before he passed at a writing conference in Port Angeles, WA., so likely it was his last public performance. (I crashed this conference with my ex-wife: she had an official invitation, I did not--but that's a story for another time.) Anyway, Stafford was the featured poet at the final gathering of the conference, and he was a magical presence. Everyone in attendance, I presume, knew who he was--it was a writing conference, after all--but I'm convinced that had this reading been someone's very first introduction to the man, they would have immediately and intuitively grasped that they were in the presence of a true bodhisattva: he simply radiated a gentle, all-accepting wisdom, and he had an aura of kindness that was nearly palpable. And while he certainly must have known he was in front of a crowd of people who revered him, he seemed so humble you wanted to reassure him: "No, Mr. Stafford, you're truly a great poet. Really!" Thanks for this poem: it reminded me that I probably need to read some more Stafford poetry.
Oops. Wrong port. The conference happened in Port Townsend (home of Copper Canyon Press).