Morning at Stanford

Jordan, first President of Stanford and an ichthyologist, once said that everytime he learned the name of a student he forgot the name of a fish.

Morning at Stanford

For follows me;
It waits, like memory:
Father holding the boat steady
For me to climb in,
Stepping ladylike between the
Rods and bait.

He sits with paddle high
Over Ledbetter Lake
Smothered by fog,
As I untie the knot
That sets us free from pier
And Mother, sleeping yet, intent.

Knowing the paths of righteousness,
You glide through water
Over the tree stumps
Where the fish lie deep:
You cast;
The fish strikes.
"There is no better way
To catch a trout,"
I hear you say,
Chuckling softly, skillfully.

Now, at Stanford, I remember that
Early morning lesson,
For the fog chokes the Inner Quad
And hides our mother Jane,
Her chosen message to the Western World.

Here by Olmstead's landscape plan
I wait to see the great tree flame again
And the sweet cacti bloom in this dry air,
Waiting as Jane did for some sign of
Fruitfulness.

At 9 a.m. the clock will chime
Westminster's borrowed tune,
The fog will lift and break
As bikers cross and Don meets Ray,
In Building Ten where money's spent.

Old Jordan loved his fish,
But let them go
To learn the students' names.

[Undated poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann. I wish she had attached an explanation for more of the allusions in this poem... If you know what she's talking about, besides fishing and then Stanford University, then please illuminate me in the comments. Who is "our mother Jane"?]