William Stobb

William Stobb Poems

On 20th between Madison and Ferry
a line of municipal maples binds the community
to an orderly, serviceable beauty. Platforms
from which our sparrows and starlings
...

polluted by thinking like
the whole truth and nothing
I see slides under charged wire
one awkward calf along
...

don't forget the friend off five
weeks in silent meditation
late flowers your brother
had a birthday and you're due notice
...

not a phase January thinking
broke me dog next door out for a pee
someone's little laugh
after she's shown living things once thinking
...

The illusion of privacy in the actual text
nowhere but everywhere
in the mind a concept even
buying certain fruits as an effort to
...

William Stobb Biography

William Stobb is an American poet. William Stobb was born in Little Falls, Minnesota, graduated from the University of North Dakota and the University of Nevada. He teaches at University of Wisconsin-La Crosse. His work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Colorado Review, American Literary Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Denver Quarterly. His monthly column on poetry and poetics, “Hard to Say”, is podcast by miPOradio. He co-curated with David Krump, a monthly reading series at The Pump House Regional Arts Center for seven years. Stobb works as Associate Editor for Conduit. He is scheduled for a panel for the 2010 Association of Writers & Writing Programs. He lives in La Crosse, Wisconsin.)

The Best Poem Of William Stobb

A Sense Of Proportion

On 20th between Madison and Ferry
a line of municipal maples binds the community
to an orderly, serviceable beauty. Platforms
from which our sparrows and starlings
might decorate our domestic sedans,
perhaps these trees serve most to stimulate
the car wash economy. Today, they remind me:

unsatisfied with workaday species, my parents
nailed oranges to a post to attract the exotic Oriole.
When the birds arrived, I wondered if they'd flown
all the way from Baltimore, which in turn
evoked a hotel, gables lined
with black and tangerine, posh clientele
spackled by the vagaries of Maryland living.

By nine I could sigh, climb our single
red maple, which I imagined a national landmark.
Child of movies, I could see the tree even at night
as a kind of beacon, a singularity. White
sheen on the leaves' pitchy gloss, bodily.
And I too would learn to feel glazed
as any creature accumulating light

cast from stars, hidden in a federation
of equivalent times, distant trains
carrying sugar, coal, whole families beyond
deserts, imposing ranges, shimmering coastlines
said to define the spirit of a people.
Far from the station, the pinpoint aurora,
a line of municipal maples bears its charge.

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