Walter McDonald (1) (1934–)

I never quite know how to write about poetry. It's such a different kind of animal. I first heard of Walt McDonald's work when Garrison Keillor read a poem from this volume, COUNTING SURVIVORS, on The Writer's Almanac a few months ago. I can't remember now which one it was. Maybe this one, called "Out of the Stone They Come" -

"My son hung a framed painting
on his wall. Head down, a man my age
leans on black granite. A soldier
holds out a ghostly hand to touch him.

Others beyond the wall look out,
young as my son in their helmets.
Out of the stone they've come
with incredibly young arms

because he's here, head bowed,
surviving ..."

If this isn't the one Keillor read that morning, it doesn't matter, because it's powerful enough in its imagery, in its grief. I've been at that black granite wall, many years ago, and it is indeed filled with ghosts. Or it may have been "What if I Didn't Die Outside Saigon," an equally moving piece on nightmares of war and gratitude for second chances.

Walt McDonald was a pilot in Vietnam and went on to a very distinguished career as a poet and professor at Texas Tech. He was also Texas's Poet Laureate in 2001. Many of the poems here reflect his childhood and youth in Texas - brief meditations on drought-ravaged ranches and failed farms gone to auction, which brought to mind his fellow Texan, Elmer Kelton, and his novel, THE TIME IT NEVER RAINED. There are poems of grandfathers, uncles, and older brothers, many of them permanently scarred by wars and personal losses.

Other poems ponder the mysteries of getting old. In "Living in Old Adobe," for example -

"... The porch swing groans
on hooks as old as us. Granddaddy
built this porch to last, oak planks
imported from forests. How many nights
did they rock here, seeing the stars we see?

Did they hope a burly grandson
would hold his own wife close on chains
we didn't hang? Now we're their age,
or older. Grandchildren we adore
are sleeping tonight in Dallas."

Like most books of poetry, COUNTING SURVIVORS is a slim volume, not even a hundred pages, that doesn't take long to read. But the words, so carefully chosen and placed, will resonate and linger. Powerful stuff, Walt. Thank you.… (meer)