Posts tagged ‘Robert Frost’

December 30th, 2012

‘Dust of Snow’ by Robert Frost

by PaulM

Dust of Snow

By Robert Frost (1874–1963)

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The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
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According to the Robert Frost encyclopedia online, this poem was first published as “Favour” in the London Mercury in Dec. 1920 and later reprinted as “Snow Dust” in the Yale Review in Jan. 1921 before it was collected in the book “New Hampshire” (1923). The following commentary about the writer is exerpted from the Robert Frost page on poetryfoundation.org:
     “…Frost’s own poetical education began in San Francisco where he was born in 1874, but he found his place of safety in New England when his family moved to Lawrence, Massachusetts, in 1884 following his father’s death. The move was actually a return, for Frost’s ancestors were originally New Englanders. The region must have been particularly conducive to the writing of poetry because within the next five years Frost had made up his mind to be a poet. In fact, he graduated from Lawrence High School, in 1892, as class poet (he also shared the honor of co-valedictorian with his wife-to-be Elinor White); and two years later, the New York Independent accepted his poem entitled “My Butterfly,” launching his status as a professional poet with a check for $15.00.
     To celebrate his first publication, Frost had a book of six poems privately printed; two copies of Twilight were made—one for himself and one for his fiancee. Over the next eight years, however, he succeeded in having only thirteen more poems published. During this time, Frost sporadically attended Dartmouth and Harvard and earned a living teaching school and, later, working a farm in Derry, New Hampshire. But in 1912, discouraged by American magazines’ constant rejection of his work, he took his family to England, where he could “write and be poor without further scandal in the family.” In England, Frost found the professional esteem denied him in his native country. Continuing to write about New England, he had two books published, A Boy’s Will and North of Boston, which established his reputation so that his return to the United States in 1915 was as a celebrated literary figure. Holt put out an American edition of North of Boston, and periodicals that had once scorned his work now sought it. …”
November 11th, 2011

Robert Frost at MRT

by PaulM

Last weekend, my wife, Rosemary, and I enjoyed a matinee performance of “The Verse Business” by A. M. Dolan, the one-man show about Robert Frost, starring Gordon Clapp, who is best known for his acting in the TV series “NYPD Blue.” Except for the side seats in the balcony, the house was full for the afternoon performance. I had heard from several people that the Frost play was a must-see at MRT. They were right. From start to finish, we appreciated every line of talk and poetry.

One of the elements of Frost’s creative genius is the way he makes sentences carry the natural song in our conversations. Playwright A. M. Dolan achieves a heightened blend of commentary and poetry in the production that runs about 80 minutes without a break. That was a good decision because the script is so enriched as a piece of writing. At the end the audience is saturated and needs to be let out to absorb what has been said. I admire how the artistic team brought poems to the public in a way that left them wanting more. To put it another way, I had just attended one of the best poetry-reading events that I’ve been to in about 40 years of doing this stuff.

Sitting in the balcony of Liberty Hall, I recalled another poetry reading there, on St. Patrick’s Day in 1986, when Allen Ginsberg and a few of us locals read to a full house. Gregory Corso climbed down from the balcony, hopped on stage, and took out his false teeth to better pronounce his poetic words. Frost made fun of the free-verse poets of the Beat era, but they shared his respect for the greats like Keats, Shelley, and Blake. I can’t remember what Frost thought of Walt Whitman. In their hundreds of celebrity appearances, Frost and Ginsberg did more to popularize the public reading of poetry than anyone else in the 20th century.

Rosemary compared the play to a classical music concert. Like Beethoven or Mozart compositions, the content is familiar and essential, part of our Western Civilization cultural DNA by now. Not only New Englanders, but also English speakers and readers worldwide, know the classic Frost poems. Even though, in a way, you knew what was coming, and in fact were waiting for the masterpieces and small gems, the pleasure in encountering the poems was refreshed in this new representation.

Gordon Clapp gave us a Frost with the right mix of crafty intellect, restrained emotion, and wise-ass rascal-ness. From certain angles on stage and in certain light, the physical likeness was surprisingly accurate if you know the many photographs of Frost. There’s a magical set twist in the latter part of the production that makes everyone in the audience sit up straight.

The play runs through Sunday, November 13, for those who want to see it. Congratulations to MRT for putting Frost on stage in the Merrimack Valley. He’s a giant of our literature, but one of us, having  grown up in Lawrence and done a little teaching and subsistence farming in Southern New Hampshire. The Frost Farm in Derry, N.H., is a fine place to visit in the fall, especially. Before all the leaves drop, there’s time to get out to the small farmstead and walk the field behind the old house. He once said he picked up poems the way his pants picked up burrs from weeds when he walked in the fields.

Take away the literary success, and Robert Frost had a tough life. He said his ambition was “to lodge a few poems where they’ll be hard to get rid of.” Check.

 

January 20th, 2011

Robert Frost & the JFK Inauguration

by PaulM

Brian Williams in 2006 reported on the back story of Robert Frost’s poem written for President Kennedy. See the clip of Frost reading and find out what happened.

This is our Robert Frost of the Merrimack Valley, who grew up in  Lawrence and graduated from Lawrence High School.

Here’s the poem Frost recited from memory because the sun reflecting off his typed sheet prevented him from reading the poem he wrote for the day:

The Gift Outright

The land was ours before we were the land’s.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.

November 5th, 2010

‘Nothing Gold Can Stay’ by Robert Frost

by PaulM

Nothing Gold Can Stay

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Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s 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.

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—Robert Frost (from “New Hampshire,” 1923)