Published in 1962 in an America just beginning to grapple with the responsibilities of environmental stewardship and the catastrophic cost of technology’s impact on nature, William Stafford’s deceptively simple poem “Traveling Through the Dark” raises difficult—often unanswerable—questions about humanity’s responsibility for the future of nature.

Driving a mountain road one night, the speaker comes upon a dead doe, hit by a car and left by the side of the road. While clearing the deer off the road to prevent accidents, the speaker discovers the dead doe was pregnant and that the unborn fawn has survived. The poem records the speaker struggling with the unexpected moral dilemma. Informed by Stafford’s abiding love of nature, which was nurtured by a childhood spent in the Midwest prairie and then by a long teaching career in the Pacific Northwest, the poem, with its easy, conversational tone, quickly found wide appeal. Stafford asks how to safeguard our relationship with nature from the dark impact of technology. In the process, the poem redefines the role of a modern poet.

Stafford was known for remarkable productivity (he often claimed to have written a poem a day across more than five decades); however, despite the pessimistic outlook of “Traveling Through the Dark,” it has become his most familiar and most anthologized work.

Poet Biography

William Stafford was an American poet, whose work and themes are now most associated with the Pacific Northwest.

Born in Hutchinson, Kansas, in 1914, Stafford was the oldest of three children. His father, a passionate outdoorsman, raised his kids to respect nature not as a commodity but rather as a spiritual force. During the Great Depression, Stafford worked odd jobs to help the family, delivering newspapers, working in sugar beet fields, doing carpentry, and apprenticing as an electrician. After several semesters in junior colleges, Stafford completed a bachelor’s degree at the University of Kansas in 1937.

After briefly studying for a master’s degree in economics at the University of Wisconsin, Stafford returned to Kansas to begin a master’s in English. A lifelong pacifist, Stafford registered as a conscientious objector when the US entered World War II, working for three years in wilderness conservation projects.

Completing his master’s in 1947, Stafford accepted a post at Lewis & Clark College in Portland, Oregon, where he would teach for more than 40 years. He completed a PhD in creative writing at the University of Iowa in 1954.

Although he had long written poetry, Stafford did not publish his first volume, a limited circulation chapbook, until he was in his early 40s. Stafford’s next publication, 1963’s collection Traveling Through the Dark, attracted critical plaudits for his subtle free verse and ability to find complexity in everyday experiences. The collection was the surprise winner of the National Book Award for Poetry. Over the next three decades, Stafford emerged as one of America’s most prolific and successful poets. He published more than 30 collections. In both the classroom and in sold-out readings across the country, Stafford promoted his perception of poetry as a spiritual community.

In 1971, Stafford was appointed as the Poetry Consultant for the Library of Congress, a one-year position now regarded as America’s Poet Laureateship. He also served as Oregon’s Poet Laureate for 15 years, from 1975 to 1990.

Stafford’s commitment to writing never ended. He disciplined himself to compose at least one poem a day. Stafford died from a heart attack in 1993, at the age of 79. Tributes from around the literary world celebrated his gentle spiritualism and his compassionate democratic sensibility.

Poem text

Stafford, William. “Traveling Through the Dark.” 1963. Poetry Foundation.

Summary

The speaker is driving along a country road in the wilderness along the Wilson River in northwestern Oregon. It is night. The speaker is not entirely surprised when he sees in the glare from his headlights a dead deer in the road ahead—presumably the victim of another driver’s carelessness, left on the edge of the narrow road. The carcass juts just far enough onto the road to be a hazard.

Familiar with the area, the speaker knows what to do, having found dead deer along the road before. To avoid the possibility of an accident—a car driving along the curvy road could veer to miss the carcass and then hit oncoming traffic—the speaker acknowledges it is wisest to move the carcass off the road: “[T]o swerve might make more dead” (Line 4). Getting out, the speaker heads to the back of the car, planning to drag the deer off the road and roll it down into the river canyon below.

In Stanza 2, by the “glow of the tail-light” (Line 5), the speaker realizes that “the heap” is in fact “a doe, a recent killing” (Line 6). Despite this, the body has already lost most signs of life: “[S]he had stiffened already, almost cold” (Lines 7-8). The speaker then makes an unexpected discovery as he drags the unwieldy carcass: The doe has a swollen belly, which is still warm.

In Stanza 3, the speaker quickly surmises the reason as he lightly touches the dead deer’s swollen side. The doe is pregnant, and the warmth in the belly indicates the fawn’s heart beating: “[I]t is alive, still, never to be born” (Line 11). The speaker now confronts a dilemma: Should he try to save the fawn? “Beside that mountain road, I hesitated” (Line 12).

In Stanza 4, for just a moment, he feels part of a community—himself, the idling car, the dead doe, the still-living fawn—he calls “our group” (Line 16). It seems to him that the wilderness around them awaits his decision.

Far from any veterinary help, however, the speaker knows his hesitation is pointless. He cannot help the fawn. As the car’s exhaust swirls in a thick red glare from the car’s taillights, the speaker makes the only decision he can. In the final couplet, the speaker identifies his lack of options as “my only swerving” (Line 17). He then unceremoniously pushes the dead doe and the living fawn over the road’s edge and into the dark river below.