254 PART THREE
The well rising without sound,
the spring on a hillside,
the plowshare brimming through deep ground
everywhere in the field—
The sharp swallows in their swerve
flaring and hesitating
hunting for the final curve
coming closer and closer—
The swallow heart from wing beat to wing beat
counseling decision, decision:
thunderous examples. I place my feet
with care in such a world.Clean, clear, quiet, yet decisive and thunderous.
His title ’s open-endedness, in a present participle, gives this poem’s keynote:
ongoing process and purpose. Since “The Well Rising” moves along with no
main verb till the end, no explanatory voice, it calls for unscrolling line by line,
drawing us into real time until its world grows whole.
The well rising without sound,
Wells betray human habitation but are silent, slow, more earthy than human.
Listening closer we can even overhear the well “without sound” as unsounded,
bottomless. Stafford ’s comma invites another such phrase, parallel and part of
the same process:
the spring on a hillside,
For a moment, “-ing” almost signals another participle, or possibly the season
covering an entire hillside. More likely this “spring” is the well’s source higher
up, a natural fountain like the Missouri River spring that Stafford once dipped
his hand in. Then a comma and more ongoing,
the plowshare brimming through deep ground
Culture cuts in now on nature, but fruitful, agricultural, with peaceful overtones
from Isaiah: “they shall beat their swords into plowshares.” As it breaks and
turns over soil, the share, the plow’s curved blade, seems to be “brimming”
like a lengthy breaker in deep sea as this line itself runs on with no comma,
brimming
everywhere in the field—
Like “deep ground,” a charmed notion has the plow working everywhere at
once. One stanza’s done but so far no verb has sealed the action—only a dash,
carrying expectancy over the break.