Poet who ‘never imitated himself ’ explored nature, own childhood

David Wagoner, a leading figure in poetry circles, especially in the Pacific Northwest, who turned a keen eye on nature, his childhood and numerous other subjects in more than 20 volumes published across half a century, died Dec. 18 at a nursing home in Edmonds, Wash. He was 96.

His wife, Robin Seyfried, confirmed the death.

Wagoner, who taught for decades at the University of Washington, also wrote novels, one of which, “The Escape Artist” (1965), about a teenage magician, was turned into a 1982 movie starring Griffin O’Neal. But he was best known for poetry. In 1991 he won the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, one of the most prestigious in the field.

In 1991, poet Rita Dove, one of the judges in the Lilly competition, told The Seattle Post-Intelligencer why she thought Wagoner deserved that prize.

“He has never imitated himself,” she said. “He has always moved in deeper directions; he has always been exploring something new.”

Wagoner was a conservationist and an enthusiastic hiker, finding awe in the landscapes of the Northwest but also sometimes lamenting humanity’s cavalier treatment of nature. “Lost,” a 1972 poem that recommended taking a quiet pause in a forest, drew on both sentiments and ended this way:

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two branches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,

You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows

Where you are. You must let it find you.

But nature was only one subject among many. Wagoner’s novels, many of them adventure yarns about young people, sometimes drew comparisons to Mark Twain for their colorful dialogue and humor, and his poems too could have a sly streak. One, included in the 2008 collection “A Map of the Night,” was called “Trying to Write a Poem While the Couple in the Apartment Overhead Make Love” and began with these lines:

She’s like a singer straying slowly off key

while trying too hard to remember the words to a song

without words, and her accompanist is metronomically dead set to sustain her pitch and tempo, and meanwhile,

under their feathers and springs, under their carpet,

under my own ceiling, I try to go on

making something or other out of nothing Some of his most moving poems were personal stories — his first trip to the movies; being fascinated with a dead snake as a child.

Among the best known of those, “Their Bodies,” was inspired by his parents’ decision to donate their bodies to science.

In addition to his wife, whom he married in 1982 (it was his third marriage), he is survived by their two daughters, Alexandra and Adrienne Wagoner, and a sister, Jeanne Howarth.

Paul Kitagaki Jr. / Hearst Newspapers David Wagoner won the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, one of the most prestigious in the field, in 1991. He taught for decades at the University of Washington.