I just adore him and his poetry. The only poem of his I can recite is "Whose Woods These Are." I learned it in elementary school and never forgot it. Now I have dementia but I can remember that. ❤
Frost's vision of the world was leavened by what he had observed and experienced as an individual. He could crack a joke and deprecate heaps of knowledge piled like old rags in a disused barn primarily because he knew that education based on books about books led to erudition that spawns erudition with no expiry. His poems are light like moths and butterflies. His diction lightsome. That makes him one of the easiest poets to learn by heart. Nature's first green is gold her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf is a flower but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf So Eden sank to grief So dawn goes down to day-- Nothing gold can stay. Robert Frost
He is little older for his age...even at birth...great American poet who did so much for English poetry that only a German could have done in French...
Frost was often misunderstood, meaning his work was. Eliot insisted one must know the whole tradition before even beginning to write poetry. Frost said one must begin on insufficient means; he also said once that Eliot and Pound studied bric-a-brac, which I assumed was a remark about their use of allusions rather than their work being self-contained. All of my favorite poets rarely alluded to other poems or literature. Eliot was wrong. Frost was right. One must begin on insufficient means. One can be a poet and write exclusively about his or her own experiences. One must work hard but doesn't have to know it all before he or she begins. Frost was right.
working from insufficiency is analogous perhaps to Keats' "negative capability" and to Stevens' "poem of the mind in the act of finding what will suffice," a modest but realistic ideal with its own resonance
Nature's first green is gold Her hardest Hue to hold Her early Leafs a flower But only so an hour Then Leaf subsides to leaf So Eden came to grief So Dawn goes down to day Nothing Gold Can Stay Robert Frost
Ive been writing for almost two decades now, Robert Frost was such an inspiration for me. As a refugee displaced from my homeland at an early age, his lovers quarell with the world has been all too familiar.
Oh today really came when I realized just how disposable am I I sit I am up and walking then right back down along the way My loves My Passion and I am only to think of me just how disposable I be The others walk by their eyes do glance at the disposable man he is too tired to dance Ambition at rest alone without loneliness it is really melancholy that so many egos but few really exist Hard to be righteous in modern times it really is a kind touch may not mean an ego has been layed out Some eyes they are sweeping the world for a glance A glimmer of chance in someones eye Perhaps it may just be the light from a single star one of billions shining light strikes their eye as if to say you are just one of so many A few before and after there will be plenty now look to the sky you will see so many stars glimmer in the darkened sky alone and disposable on a hurtling world ever moving as I until my ambition could not even muster to cry for those who came before me and to all the plenty who will surely pass me by as I lay seemingly asleep no one will weep no one will have much care so disposable I died A heart broken how disposable am I well not at all disposable think I then before I sat and pondered the answer of this horrible lie that I should be disposable and not knowing why As if it were programmed the answer comes by on a quiet wave as it takes to the shore Everyone ends this we know by and by all the lives are disposable all of us you and I
Pleasant? I’m not so sure of that. Fiercely intelligent, supremely witty, brilliant, engaging, inspiring oh yes! But pleasant probably doesn’t accurately describe his persona. Like many of us he apparently had his shortcomings in his family relationships.
I thought Jay Parini's biography "ROBERT FROST/a life, 1999, was excellent when I read it back in 2004. Professor Parini seems to be a Frost scholar, an expert. He admires Frost openly, but is critical of him, too. Edit: Parini's appearance on C-SPAN'S "Booknotes," discussing his bio of Frost, is very impressive, too. The professor's mind overflows with all he knows about the poet.
I thought Gore's memoirs, "Palimpsest," 1995, and "Point to Point Navigation," 2007, were so interesting and enjoyable that I read both of them twice. Gore knew everyone from Roy Cohn to Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman, from JFK to Jack Kerouac, from Tennessee Williams to Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon. They're full of anecdotes, literary and celebrity gossip, if you find that kind of writing entertaining. I did.
i was born in san Francisco would i have loved to meet u from one frost to another not sure if we were ever related but its nice to think u could be a relative of mine...
@Neon Beat I want to add spanish subtitles to it, so some friends who don´t understand english can enjoy it too, can you enable the comunity contribution, please?
Thank you. I'll work on it...Perhaps, do you know if "Beto", the poet he speaks of at the beggining, is Vachel Lindsay? or is he refering to other poet? I cannot find it out.
I listened to 3:03, and I'm sorry but I don't understand what you're asking about. I didn't hear him refer to "Beto," although I hear him refer to Lindsay. I remember reading about this visit/speech/reading he gave, and it's about one university president dying, and another taking his place at the school.
No disrespect intended to Mr Frost but i can't stop getting distracted by so many beautiful faces in the audience......they make my heartbeat pause...and go fast...like my heart is tumbling down...to woods...where live shades and voices...which ...😑
Frost often seemed to chafe whenever someone read more into his poems than was his intention. But then again, he often seemed to add a certain level of deliberate ambiguity and/or contradiction in many of his poems.
i suppose it's like trying to interpret all of the lines in a gesture drawing -- well, it's not a complete and fleshed out painting, it's a bunch of lines drawn in quick succession describing the movement and flow of the subject, yet not accurately describing the anatomy. art is art, it is not life. any artist will chafe (inwardly or out) at the thought of someone using their work as a functional specification. that's an architect's job, not a poet's. a poet describes things that aren't necessarily truth, but subjective feeling or pure frustration, like a sledge hammer coming down onto a concrete slab in another dimension outside of our universe... you can't describe it because it doesn't follow our known laws.
A remarkable poet, however his arrogant, ignorant and boorish reaction to the English gamekeeper "shamed" Edward Thomas into volunteering for the First World War and his rapid death. By that time Robert Frost was safe at home. Thus England lost yet one more of her finest men.
I guess poetry isn’t your thing. It’s too bad because a person could learn a lot from this. Personally I’m totally fascinated by Robert Frost, I’m trippin’ on this.
