In carrying on with poetry, I'd like to list one of my favorites: Robert Frost. Like Emily, I did not care for him at first. I had had the poem "The Road Not Taken" shoved down my throat by well-meaning English teachers and even choir directors. They would sit near tears and say to the class, "Do you understand the beauty of the words? Can you comprehend the wisdom in the words?" For the last time, YES! Or maybe, no. Because I wasn't near tears. I was thinking, "What a nice poem. What nice words. They have great meaning. Okay. What else ya got?" And I felt stuck on that poem, like Frost had nothing better to say. Anytime I heard his name mentioned, I would take a breath, count to three and then vehemently hiss through clenched teeth, "I hate him." He had been shoved down my inexperienced throat. My teachers had led a horse to water and then shoved her head into the trough until she perished. At least, that's what I had thought. It turns out, I wasn't all dead. I was only mostly dead. I was revived a few years ago, and then I fell in something like love with Robert Frost's poetry. I still have unsuppressed feelings when someone blubbers out "...and I -I took the one less traveled by..." I'm not saying it's not good work. It is! I'm just burned out on the goodness of it all, I guess.
Then there is that poem. The one that runs through my head all day long. I can feel it every time I look at my daughter. I feel it every time I have a minute to savor watching my husband working alone a few yards away. Frost titled his poem, "The Pasture", but the poem means so much more than that. He speaks of Love: Young Love, Seasoned Love, Unconditional Love. Here, in two stanzas, is everything I feel:
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 sha'n't be gone long. --You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long. --You come too.
Frost used this poem as an invitation in his books. He invited his readers to join him as he laid his innermost self bare for the world to see. He published his thoughts, his words, his lifeblood (as it were) and invited everyone to see the world through his eyes. A better invitation was never given. I've heard this poem interpreted in this way: He loves his companion (be that who it may) so much that he wants them to be with him always -even when he is doing simple meaningless tasks. In a sense, he is saying, "I only have to do this. I won't be gone long, but I can't live without you for even that one little minute. Come with me."
Fair enough. But I feel it much differently. When he uses the word, "spring" he is referencing a small stream in a pasture. I feel that he speaks of love. Think of the pasture as a family, and think of the stream as the flowing vein of life running smack dab in the middle of it all. He says, "I'll only stop to rake the leaves away". Often, love becomes muddled. It is clouded over with family duties, work, spit-up, and commitments to others. Frost has invited the companion he shares love with (child? spouse? sibling? mother? friend?) to come with him and simply clear the spring and start again fresh, "(And wait to watch the water clear, I may)". I love that he uses the word "spring" as opposed to "stream" or "creek". Spring implies a freshness -a new start. And the next stanza elaborates. It tells of a young calf -a new love. It is fresh. It "totters". It is ready to grow. This stanza, of course, brings me to think of my children (the first makes me think mostly of Danny Dearest). I love them. I love the brand new innocence that looks to me in the first minute of life for signs of love. What do I think of when I see them looking at me for comfort? hope? courage? "You come too."
Perhaps all Frost was really trying to say was that he wanted his readers to clear their thoughts for a few moments to experience his poetry with a fresh mind -join him on a very personal journey. That makes more sense than all I've rambled on about. My mind is made up, still, to hold fast to my sentimentality. Perhaps my children will hate Frost because their eccentric mother was always saying things like, "totters" and "I sha'n't be gone long". And when an emotional English teacher reads "I shall be telling this with a sigh" their little hearts will burst at the seams, and they will come home, hug me, and tell me that they have finally found the true meaning in life. I'll let them think my tears are tears of joy.
3 comments:
I think you would love Mrs. David. She gave such insightful views into Frost's poetry and a new perspective that really got me thinking. When he says, "I shall be telling this with a sigh, ....I took the road less-travelled by, and that has made all the difference" he never states that it has made all the difference, only that in senility (ages and ages hence), that's the way he will be telling it. By all other accounts in the story, the passing had worn the two paths about the same. So the deep meaning dug out by so many well-meaning people could be called nothing more than the raucous "back when I was your age" boastings of a senile old man. Frost had a way of tricking people who pass so quickly over his work and think they've taken something of profound worth, when really as you become acquainted with his style, and stop listening to the babbling masses about the "road less-travelled" you see what is actually there. There's a lot of wisdow to take from the choices analogy in the poem, but I wish they'd stop bending Frost's art into parables for their own use. I add my hearty AMEN.
I think my two favorite Frost poems (so far) are 1) Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and 2) Mending Wall. So many great symbols and metaphors -not to mention the alliteration and assonance. (Listen to your little geek-brother!)
First of all, you are not my little brother, nor are you a geek. You're cool, okay? Don't worry ab0ut what other people say. Follow your heart. No Raspberries.
Next, someone told me about that view of The road less-travelled. I think it was you. Or it might have been mentioned by Mrs. Scheur. Yes, I think it was her. Then she was attacked with verbal brutality by some of the students who had founded their life with their first interpretation as their motto. I think that Frost made his poetry like this on purpose. Each poem is very personal to each person. You've got to respect talent like that.
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