W.D. Snodgrass (1926-2009): Walking Through the Universe

When I received the sad news early Tuesday afternoon from his wife Kathy that W.D. Snodgrass had died during the morning hours, succumbing to the lung cancer he had battled for the last four months, I was relieved to be informed he at least had passed away quickly and without pain. In addition, I was grateful that I had an opportunity just last week to communicate to De how much he and his poetry had meant to me and many other fellow poets or readers of contemporary literature. Indeed, only eight days earlier I had published at “One Poet’s Notes” a tribute to the poet on the occasion of his 83rd birthday. In that article I had provided visitors with a link to a video interview, demonstrating De’s lively ability to engagingly discuss poetry and displaying his lovely personality. At the time, I was pleased to learn from Kathy Snodgrass that De had seen the note of appreciation and had heard of numerous similarly complimentary comments coming from others as well.

Today, as those of us who love passionate poetry and value fine literature mourn the passing of W.D. Snodgrass, and as we offer comments of condolence to his family and friends, let us realize we will miss the man, but through the magnificent words of his poetry, De will forever be “walking through the universe” and will always remain in the hearts of his readers. In fact, let us begin compiling our treasury of Snodgrass’s poetry with the following appropriate piece, “These Trees Stand . . . ,” which first appeared in his groundbreaking premiere collection of poems, Heart’s Needle, published fifty years ago in 1959.

THESE TREES STAND . . .

These trees stand very tall under the heavens.
While they stand, if I walk, all stars traverse
This steep celestial gulf their branches chart.
Though lovers stand at sixes and at sevens
While civilizations come down with the curse,
Snodgrass is walking through the universe.

I can’t make any world go around your house.
But note this moon. Recall how the night nurse
Goes ward-rounds, by the mild, reflective art
Of focusing her flashlight on her blouse.
Your name’s safe conduct into love or verse;
Snodgrass is walking through the universe.

Your name’s absurd, miraculous as sperm
And as decisive. If you can’t coerce
One thing outside yourself, why you’re the poet!
What irrefrangible atoms whirl, affirm
Their destiny and form Lucinda’s skirts!
She can’t make up your mind. Soon as you know it,
Your firmament grows touchable and firm.
If all this world runs battlefield or worse,
Come, let us wipe our glasses on our shirts:
Snodgrass is walking through the universe.

—W.D. Snodgrass