Posted on 01/12/2014 6:41:22 PM PST by not2be4gotten.com
I remember poetry night, at the kitchen table, every Wednesday.
When I was a kid, I hated "poetry night" when we had supper together.
My mom made us read poems, every Wednesday night.
It was so uncool.
That was 30 years ago and I was in my teens.
And now, I ask you to consider the following:
Whose woods these are 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 farmhouse 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...
These signs
Are not
For laughs alone
The face they save
May be your own
Burma-Shave
I don’t think you can truly understand “stopping by woods on a snowy evening” until after you have turned 40. lol
I like this interpretation:
From:
http://www.gradesaver.com/the-poetry-of-robert-frost/study-guide/section15/
The poem was inspired by a particularly difficult winter in New Hampshire when Frost was returning home after an unsuccessful trip at the market. Realizing that he did not have enough to buy Christmas presents for his children, Frost was overwhelmed with depression and stopped his horse at a bend in the road in order to cry. After a few minutes, the horse shook the bells on its harness, and Frost was cheered enough to continue home.
The narrator in the poem does not seem to suffer from the same financial and emotional burdens as Frost did, but there is still an overwhelming sense of the narrator’s unavoidable responsibilities. He would prefer to watch the snow falling in the woods, even with his horse’s impatience, but he has “promises to keep,” obligations that he cannot ignore even if he wants to. It is unclear what these specific obligations are, but Frost does suggest that the narrator is particularly attracted to the woods because there is “not a farmhouse near.” He is able to enjoy complete isolation.
Frost’s decision to repeat the final line could be read in several ways. On one hand, it reiterates the idea that the narrator has responsibilities that he is reluctant to fulfill. The repetition serves as a reminder, even a mantra, to the narrator, as if he would ultimately decide to stay in the woods unless he forces himself to remember his responsibilities. On the other hand, the repeated line could be a signal that the narrator is slowly falling asleep. Within this interpretation, the poem could end with the narrator’s death, perhaps as a result of hypothermia from staying in the frozen woods for too long.
The narrator’s “promises to keep” can also be seen as a reference to traditional American duties for a farmer in New England. In a time and a place where hard work is valued above all things, the act of watching snow fall in the woods may be viewed as a particularly trivial indulgence. Even the narrator is aware that his behavior is not appropriate: he projects his insecurities onto his horse by admitting that even a work animal would “think it queer.”
Shouldn’t you be reading that to someone over the telefon?
Higgledy piggledy, my black hen,
She lays eggs for gentlemen.
Gentlemen come every day
To count what my black hen doth lay.
If perchance she lays too many,
They fine my hen a pretty penny;
If perchance she fails to lay,
The gentlemen a bonus pay.
Mumbledy pumbledy, my red cow,
She’s cooperating now.
At first she didn’t understand
That milk production must be planned;
She didn’t understand at first
She either had to plan or burst,
But now the government reports
She’s giving pints instead of quarts.
Fiddle de dee, my next-door neighbors,
They are giggling at their labors.
First they plant the tiny seed,
Then they water, then they weed,
Then they hoe and prune and lop,
They they raise a record crop,
Then they laugh their sides asunder,
And plow the whole caboodle under.
Abracadabra, thus we learn
The more you create, the less you earn.
The less you earn, the more you’re given,
The less you lead, the more you’re driven,
The more destroyed, the more they feed,
The more you pay, the more they need,
The more you earn, the less you keep,
And now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to take
If the tax-collector hasn’t got it before I wake.
What is it about standing in the dark, when it is snowing quietly? You can actually hear the snow fall, and it is such a peaceful sound, and the whole feeling is one of peace.
For me... it's my version of a 'fortress of solitude'. I'm alone within the elements. Alone with/in my thoughts. The snowy landscape provides a temporary damper from the world's clutter. No longer assaulted from the electronics we have allowed to possess so much of our time, our senses. The snow also provides a brief respite from the dirtiness of todays society...provides an altered world to relish that peace.
For me...
Haha, very much indeed.
tears in his eyes?
Ooooh, that's GOOD.
As he tears up, all he can see are lights, nothing clearly.
A crowd of "stars".
By Jove, I'll take it! Thank you.
thanks
Lot of words just to say, “I found a convenient bush for a needed potty stop.” *<];-)
Oh, come on, it is the spirit of the thing. lol
Uncle Jed was thinking about you again. (wink)
Just as everything else in life, there is GOOD poetry and there is repulsive poetry.
Frost is one of the good guys.
I used to read Edgar Allen Poe to my child.
Loved the Raven and the Bells.
But much of poetry is for the committed to it. Not very interesting.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.