A wonderful poem by American poet William Stafford (1914-1993).
Ask Me
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
Tonight I was looking through The Darkness Around Us Is Deep, which is a collection of William Stafford's work.
Click → for a SAMPLING.
He liked to utilize conversation in his poems. Quotation marks abound, and in a measure noticeably greater than most other poets I am familiar with.
As such, I tend to agree with the introductory comments of Robert Bly, who notes that Stafford “believes in talking to awake people...”
And elsewhere, he says “The poems feel like an extension of family gossip, trenchant statements to people listening with a little more care than usual.”
I agree, and I mention it here because in the above poem, we are reading a sort of quotation-markless conversation. We are being asked to listen with a little more care than usual.
I think it is important to notice that the poem never happens. From the first word to the last, it is speculative, and in the future tense.
I think it is important to read “Ask Me” with an ear tuned towards who is speaking to whom, and similarly, who is listening to whom (or to what). And perhaps most importantly, what is expected of any listener.
Speaking, listening and waiting are the dominant points of contact, and are the dominant verbs of the poem.
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made.
There will come a time when things are not as swift moving as they are right now. Issues that may have been too hot to discuss, and too fluid to interpret correctly, will have cooled down, solidified. Maybe even turned to ice.
Water is useful, vital and necessary. But ice is more manageable. When that time comes, [the less chaotic time] ask me (about) mistakes I have made.
Ask me of my worst.
Ask me whether
what I have done is my life.
The first thing that comes to my mind as I read this, is that one is more likely to be requesting such interrogation if one feels that they have NOT done all that they had intended to do. They had not accomplished what they had set out to accomplish, or ought to have accomplished, or were expected to have accomplished. I realize I am taking great license with that interpretation. But really, does one who feels completely fulfilled in every area of their life ask someone else to wait for a special time to ask them how they achieved such tranquility and inner harmoniousness?
No.
The poem’s title is Ask Me.... and this is important. It is a plea. The person in question has a longing to be asked something. Someone who is at harmony with their inner and outer cosmos would be more likely interested in telling something!
Ask me whether what I have done with my life is an expression of my greatest potential.
Ask me if I have done who I am.
Ask me if what I am about, is doing.
Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt:
A bit of a difficult portion for me. Especially the phrase “into my thought.” However, I believe he is introducing the concept of “others” into the equation. Others mold us and shape us, help or hinder us. Sometimes they may even make or break us. “No man is an island” and all that. The speaker is saying he has known both types of “other.”
ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
Ask me what role others have played, regarding my present circumstances.
The second stanza really soars, for me.
First of all..... I will listen to what you say.
Now, hold on a minute. No one has said anything yet.
So far, if the hearer complies, the listener has only been ASKED certain things. He has not been instructed, or taught.
What does this listening then, refer to? Listening to questions? Well....
[oh this is wonderful, methinks...]
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait.
There’s something about being on the same team, you know?
Let’s you and I base our relationship right now on a common interest in the well-being of each other, and both turn in the same direction. Let’s wait to hear something that we both know we are not going to hear, and in doing so, realize that the answer is not in the telling, but in the mutual willingness to listen.
The one who is speaking, in this poem, is the river.
And not even the surface of the river, but the undercurrent, that which flows under the ice.
Something we know, and sense, and yes, even hear, but do not see.
We will listen for that which a third person standing nearby, looking upon the same scene, would not hear.
Notice now, the introduction of the words “we” and “us". They are the parentheses around this next passage.
We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
The darkness around us is [indeed] deep.
Let it remain around us, and not IN us.
We know there is life, movement (“the current is there”) obscured by all that is visible, yes, but there nonetheless.
Hidden for a season, moreso than a reason.
This stillness teaches us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
I will be as mute as this river, but if you are willing to listen to it with me, we will both hear the answer to every question you have asked.
And the answer will apply to us both, equally.
Individually.
-- Further study --
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