Major American Poets - Robert Frost

                                                                                                            By Lisa Boston Frye

 

                                         “I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.”

                                                                                 (inscription on his tombstone)

 

              I thought I knew nothing about poetry until I began to read the lines of Robert Frost whose memorable words have stood the test of time and reminded me that yes I have been acquainted with poetry over the years. 

              Robert Frost was a New Englander despite his birth in San Francisco, California, in 1874.  He came home to his roots when he was eleven years old after the death of his father from tuburculosis.  Frost loved New Hampshire and Vermont and the farms where he lived and worked throughout his long life.  Frost liked to say that he stuck to two things - poetry and family.  He thought of himself as a “symbolic farmer and a symbolic teacher.”   Of his poetry he said, “these poems are written in parable, so the wrong people won’t hear them and so be saved.”  and  “My poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.”  and  “It’s organized violence by language.”  (from Voices and Visions video)

              Frost married his high school sweetheart, Elinor White, with whom he fell madly in love.  Of Elinor and their love he wrote, “never again would birdsong be the same.”  She shared the honor of school valedictorian with Frost at Lawrence High School.  In final speeches to their classmates, Robert spoke of a “Monument to Afterthoughts Unveiled”, and Elinor said that “Conversation is the Definition of Life”.  These two precepts became the basis of thought for the poetry of  Robert Frost.

                                                      (from Voices and Visions video)

              Robert Frost lived his life guided by an instinct to protect what he was or wanted to be.  A college atmosphere stifled him, and he left Harvard without a degree after a bout with tuburculosis and  the birth of his second child.  Although he lost friends and connections by leaving Harvard, he didn’t feel sorry about it.  He said,  “I did not regret leaving, however, for I could not stay.”  (from www.RobertFrost.com)

                                         I shall be telling this with a sigh

                                         Somewhere ages and ages hence:

                                         Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

                                         I took the one less traveled by,

                                         And that has made all the difference.

                                                                    (from The Road Not Taken)

              Three years later his eldest child, Elliot, died suddenly of typhoid fever, an incident that caused problems in his marriage.  Some believe Frost wrote the poem “Home Burial” to address this period in his life.  In the poem there is an element of self accusation.  Home Burial serves as a record of husband and wife relations and the aftermath of a death of a child.

                                                                    (from Voices and Visions video)

 

                                         ‘God, what a woman: And it’s come to this,

                                         A man can’t speak of his own child that’s dead.’

 

                                         ‘You can’t because you don’t know how.

                                         If you had any feelings, you that dug

                                         With your own hand--how could you?--his little grave;

                                         I saw you from that very window there,

                                         Making the gravel leap and leap in air,

                                         Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly

                                         And roll back down the mound beside the hole.

                                         I thought, Who is that man? I didn’t know you.’

                                         And...

 

                                         ‘There you have said it all and you feel better.

                                         You won’t go now.  You’re crying.  Close the door.

                                         The heart’s gone out of it: why keep it up?

                                         Amy!  There’s someone coming down the road!’

                                        

                                         ‘You--oh, you think the talk is all.  I must go-

                                         Somewhere out of this house.l  How can I make you--’

 

                                         ‘If--you--do!’  She was opening the door wider.

                                         ‘Where do you mean to go?  First tell me that.

                                         I’ll follow and bring you back by force.  I will!--’

             

              Frost was determined to be a successful and universally recognized poet.  Since his work wasn’t receiving the attention it deserved in the United States, Frost decided to uproot his family and move to England.  He chose England for three reasons.  The first was Elinor’s desire to live ‘under thatch.’  The second was to ‘live cheap.’  The third was the ‘great tradition of English lyric poetry’.  When he left his farm in Derry, New Hampshire to move to England, it was difficult to say goodbye.  He said, “It all started in Derry - the whole thing.” (Parini)

                                                      It shall be no trespassing

                                                      If I come again some spring

                                                      In the grey disguise of years

                                                      Seeking ache of memory here.

                                                                                 (from Voices and Visions video)

              Frost wanted to create a reputation back home by becoming recognized in England.  He put some of his poetry together in a little book and took it to a publisher in England.  Within 3 days he had a contract.  A Boy’s Will was the result.  North of Boston soon followed.  Frost laid out his career while in England.  He was able to meet most of the major poets in the area.  Ezra Pound was helpful is getting Frost introduced to English society, but Frost didn’t like Pound, and said of him, “You’re not going to make the same mistake that Pound makes -  that my simplicity is that of an untutored child.  I am not undesigning.”  (from Voices and Visions video)

              Frost met his best friend, Edward Thomas, while living in England.  Thomas was a writer who had taken the wrong road into hackwork.  Frost encouraged Thomas to write poetry.  Although Frost had the bones of The Road Not Taken in note form, the indecision of Thomas in choosing a life’s path inspired Frost to create the landmark poem that exists today.  (from Parini) 

              Frost remained with his family in England for three years.  Frost said, “  I owe a lot to the British.”  He became homesick for New England and decided to - “go home, get a farm and grow “Yankier and Yankier.”  His goal in England was now more than realized and he was receiving the critical attention in the United States that he desired.  (from Voices and Visions video)

              Upon Frost’s return from England, he purchased a farm in Franconia, New Hampshire.  Farm life gave him inspiration and fodder for his pastoral poetry.  “After Apple-Picking” was written “without stumbling a line”.  He wrote “The Death of the Hired Man” in two hours making no changes.  Frost couldn’t write unless he heard the voices carrying on the conversations that he records.  (from www.RobertFrost.com)

 

                           ‘Warren,’ she said, ‘he has come home to die:

                           You needn’t be afraid he’ll leave you this time.’

 

                           ‘Home,’ he mocked gently.

                           ‘Yes, what else but home?

                           It all depends on what you mean by home.

                           Of course he’s nothing to us, any more

                           than was the hound that came a stranger to us

                           Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail.’

                          

                           ‘Home is the place where, when you have to go there,

                           They have to take you in.’

 

                           Frost avoids poetic diction in his poetry.  He prefers to use his own words, and tries to present a natural and sincere tone in his work.  Conversations with friends gave him moments of greatest joy and it was this quality of intimacy that he wanted in his poetry. (from www.RobertFrost.com)

 

                                         I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;

                                         I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away

                                         (And wait to watch the water clear, I may):

                                         I shan’t be gone long. - You come too.

                                                                                 (from The Pasture)

              Frost tried to make music out of what he called, “the sounds of sense.”    Frost maintained that whether you wrote prose or poetry, you must have an ear for the sounds of language.  When you listen to a speaker, hear the words but also the tones of the speech.  Note them, imagine them again, and write them down.  This Frost called “writing with your ear to the voice.”  He promoted “bringing in the living sounds of speech” by capturing the essense of live speech and transferring those tones to paper.  Getting the stuff of life into your writing style is to be successful at milking the sounds of sense.  (Parini)               

              Frost’s life’s ambition was to write  a few poems it will be hard to get rid of.”   Without question he has reached that goal.  My favorite poem by Robert Frost is “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening”.

 

                                         Whose woods are these I think I know.

                                         His house is in the village, though;

                                         He will not see me stopping here

                                         To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 

                                         My little horse must think it queer

                                         To stop without a farmnouse near

                                         Between the woods and frozen lake

                                         The darkest evening of the year.

 

                                         He gives his harness bells a shake

                                         To ask if there is some mistake.

                                         The  only other sound’s the sweep

                                         Of easy wind and downy flake.

 

                                         The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

                                         But I have promises to keep,

                                         And miles to go before I sleep,

                                         And miles to go before I sleep.

 

              Robert Frost died in Boston in 1963 at the age of 88.

                          

 

 

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1