Abandoned houses and farms seems to be a common theme... Ghost House Robert Frost I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago, And left no trace but the cellar walls, And a cellar in which the daylight falls And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield The woods come back to the mowing field; The orchard tree has grown one copse Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops; The footpath down to the well is healed. I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart On that disused and forgotten road That has no dust-bath now for the toad. Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; The whippoorwill is coming to shout And hush and cluck and flutter about: I hear him begin far enough away Full many a time to say his say Before he arrives to say it out. It is under the small, dim, summer star. I know not who these mute folk are Who share the unlit place with me— Those stones out under the low-limbed tree Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar. They are tireless folk, but slow and sad— Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,— With none among them that ever sings, And yet, in view of how many things, As sweet companions as might be had.
The Simple Joys of Life...... The Joyful Verses of Robert Frost: Celebrating Happiness in Poetry "When we think of Robert Frost, we often associate him with the snowy woods and contemplative musings on life's complexities. However, amidst the melancholic tones and introspective narratives, Frost also explored the theme of happiness in his poetry. In this article, we will delve into Frost's lesser-known but equally captivating poems that celebrate the beauty and joy found in everyday moments." "A Prayer in Spring" "Happiness Makes Up in Height for What It Lacks in Length" "Fireflies in the Garden" READ MORE
The Stalwart Soul: Frost's "A Lone Striker" A Lone Striker (The poem opens with a factory hand arriving late to work to find himself locked out for half an hour, as punishment. In this unexpected free time the worker contemplates the marvel of the man-made machine, and yet questions its ultimate value): Man's ingenuity was good. He saw it plainly where he stood, Yet found it easy to resist. (In the end the man decides to go on lone strike for a day and take a walk in the woods): If--if he stood! Enough of ifs! He knew a path that wanted walking; He knew a spring that wanted drinking; A thought that wanted further thinking; A love that wanted re-renewing. Nor was this just a way of talking To save him the expense of doing. With him it boded action, deed. READ MORE
I like this one Two Tramps in Mud Time By Robert Frost Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily, "Hit them hard!" I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay. Good blocks of oak it was I split As large around as the chopping block And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good That day, giving a loose my soul I spent on the unimportant wood. ... CONTINUED
Morning Joe, I only watched Part 1, so far. I never read poems but remember learning how to "try" to write one, with the words that rhyme. I heard of Robert Frost, somewhere in time, but I have to thank you so, very much for sharing the videos. I can best say how I feel after listening to part 1, that he touched my heart, what a wonderful man he was. I don't think I'll stop listening now, I want to hear part 2. It's the best "listen" I've had, but I also think that my ears are much more open nowadays, (and my heart), my mind is more willing to focus as well. Really can't tell you how much I appreciate you introducing me to Robert Frost, denise PS I wish I could put a big heart right here, to help express my appreciation.
I'm going to look for Robert's books, especially the 2 he mentions in Part 1. The one he recited, can't think of the name, have to go back and look, but how comforting it was. I need comforting "reads" these days, maybe I always needed them, just took this long for me to realize, denise PS I think I got this copied right, quoting what he says near the end of Part 1: Every poem is a stay against the confusion of the world, Robert Frost (not sure about the word stay, if I heard it right??) Sorry, have to add how much I love what he says about the word "retreat" and the word "escape". There is such a difference, so well explained by him.
OCTOBER "Did you know that Robert Frost was a farmer poet? He owned a small 18-acre farm in Derry, New Hampshire. Frost would milk cows at midnight to stay up late writing poetry and not have to get up too early!"
I read a Wiki on him, it was wonderful to know more about him. I also got one of his books for just 1.99 cents on my Kindle, https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CRDSMZHL/ref=kinw_myk_ro_title I know it's not the same as having the hardcopy, but this is easier for me to read, and store as I have turned semi-minimalist. I hate to think of "selling the farm" and someone having to dispose of a lot of might be treasure to me, but just junk to others
....this gem, repeated from post #12: "Of his profession, he has left us these thoughts": A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. A poem begins with a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering. A poet never takes notes. You never take notes in a love affair. Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things. To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat. Poetry is what gets lost in translation. Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down. Style is that which indicates how the writer takes himself and what he is saying. It is the mind skating circles around itself as it moves forward.