“No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader,” wrote Robert Frost. While much 20th Century poetry trended to confessional styles and obscurity, Robert Frost’s poetry dazzled readers with its clarity and depth. What most readers of Frost’s poetry don’t know is that Frost also wrote eloquently about poetry and the writing of poetry. That’s why I’m recommending this collection. It contains many of Frost’s best poems plus his best essays on his craft. There are plenty of surprises in Frost. His deceptively simple style hides some deep thoughts. Ponder this short poem:
THE HARDSHIP OF ACCOUNTING
Never ask of money spent
Where the spender thinks it went
Nobody was ever meant
To remember or invent
What he did with every cent.
But accounting for the money is EXACTLY what accounting was invented to do! So what is Frost getting at in this poem? I like to point out to my Accounting students that they have a herculean task when they attempt to keep track of funds when the spirit of most of the spending people in the organization is “Who cares?” I like to think Frost is saying people don’t like to account for their money or their actions. But, somebody has to. Or should we be living our lives not worrying about accounting for our actions. Either way, this short poem has generated plenty of thought and discussion in my classes over the years. And, that’s just the tip of the Robert Frost iceberg. GRADE: A
I used to tell my students that Frost once said, “I’m always saying something that’s just at the edge of saying something else.” It’s been a while since I was in a classroom, and I don’t remember whether Frost really said that or whether I made it up. At any rate, I think it’s a pretty good description of his poetry. And you know what? I suspect that outside an academic setting Frost is probably a forgotten writer. Sad, if true.
I suspect Frost is forgotten in the academic setting, too, Bill! Only one professor in my Ph.D. program ever referred to Frost and his work. But I read Frost on a regular basis. Love that Frost quote (even if you made it up)! It sounds like something he would say.
Sounds like a metaphor to me. Money means something else. Thoughts, writing?
It could be thoughts or writing, Patti. Frost always seems to be talking about something not quite in the picture.
I had no idea that Frost was no longer taught in school. Literary immortality isn’t as long as it used to be.
What writers are big in the English department these days?
John Ashberry is very big in academic-land, Drongo. And women poets. Robert Frost, not so much.
Many years ago we visited Frost’s house in North Carolina and gained many valuable insights into his life and life-style, thanks to a knowledgeable and informative Park Guide. A friend of mine went there about a year ago and reported the place was largely scuttled due to refurbishing, and the guide knew nothing about the man.
There’s a metaphor there for you.
The Frost house mirror’s his current status in our decadent culture, Dan. Great story!
Good pick, George!
I doubt, other than “The Road Less Traveled”, that many people could name a poem by Robert Frost. Four or five decades ago his poetry was considered pretty lightweight stuff, along with Whitman. Cummings and Eliot got the attention. In the late 1960s, and 1970s it was poets Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg and their like. For the African-American poets, Langston Hughes carried the flag. These days? I don’t keep up as much as I should, and there is a new darling poet every year, but I might suggest Hayden Carruth (IF YOU CALL THIS CRY A SONG) for the 1980s, Kenneth Koch (ONE TRAIN) and Michael Madson (BURNING IN PARADISE) for the 1990s.
I’ll have to take some volumes off the shelf and do some reading, and I’ll start with Frost, (THE COLLECTED POEMS).
I should have said up front that this is something I’ll be reading.
My favorite Robert Frost poem is:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.
Dan – in your comment about the house in North Carolina, I believe you’re thinking of Carl Sandburg, not Frost.
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
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.
“Snowy Evening” may be the best known of them all, if for nothing else than the last two lines.
“Snowy Evening” is best known for a reason, Rick. It’s great!
Was Frost the fellow who wrote:
“There once was a man from Nantucket…”
I think Frost wrote that, too, Drongo, in his off moments.