[William Stafford] is a unique poet if there ever was one, though somewhat misunderstood, I feel, and, strangely neglected by the critics. (p. 272)

For some reason he has been accepted as a bucolic poet. This is utterly preposterous, though he digs deep into the land for analogues. He is an urbane naturalist. His touted simplicity is not simple…. He is one of the slipperiest poets around, but like seals, that's getting rare.

I like to think of him as a "family jiber" who draws things closer by testing and defining boundaries. Families need such jibers. And so does a society…. William Stafford has been doing it all with a particularly sensitive and intelligent stethoscope—himself. It is my own belief that in a steady, unobtrusive fashion, a great voice in poetry has matured, which has its own American grapple with innocence…. [Stafford] moves the reader into an underworld...