There are a few Frost poems I would like to discuss with any interested person. Anybody read any of the following?:
My November Guest
Revelation
The Telephone
Love and a Question
I would love for someone to give me their take on any of these poems. I have thought about them a lot and want to talk about it. -Inc.
Any Frost fans out there?
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Incusblack
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No, its not an assignment. I'm just into his work.
Yes, he did produce quite a bit of work. There are several of his that really resonate with me that I want to get some other takes on. "Reluctance" is another one that I really like. Inc.
Yes, he did produce quite a bit of work. There are several of his that really resonate with me that I want to get some other takes on. "Reluctance" is another one that I really like. Inc.
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Incusblack
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To get the ball rolling, here is Frost's "My November Guest":
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.
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twoleftfeet
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Inc,
The way it works is:
YOU tell US what YOU think then WE tell YOU that you're WRONG!
Seriously though - YOU FIRST!
Geoff
The way it works is:
YOU tell US what YOU think then WE tell YOU that you're WRONG!
Seriously though - YOU FIRST!
Geoff
I admire Frost.
He's such a deceptively difficult poet. Like with November Guest. You think you've cleared it all up, but that discord in the very last line just throws you off the path. A lot of his poems are like that. They always end in a seemingly comfortable fashion, but are literally much more unhappy than they initially appear. The logic of his poems always confound the attempt at a happy sentiment.
Anyway IC - as Geoff says - you first
.
Dave
He's such a deceptively difficult poet. Like with November Guest. You think you've cleared it all up, but that discord in the very last line just throws you off the path. A lot of his poems are like that. They always end in a seemingly comfortable fashion, but are literally much more unhappy than they initially appear. The logic of his poems always confound the attempt at a happy sentiment.
Anyway IC - as Geoff says - you first
.Dave
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Incusblack
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With "My November Guest" I at first thought that his sorrow was personified as a woman who helps the speaker see a November day as beautiful. Now I believe the speaker to be referring to some unnamed female companion who has this effect on "My Sorrow." I love that she challenges the speaker to see the beauty in "the bare, the withered tree" and the "sodden pasture lane." I also like the subtle elements like the fact that it is her "simple worsted grey" that is "silver now with clinging mist." The imagery is superb and evokes a very melancholy sort of longing for beauty and an appreciation for the type of relationship in which she "talks and I am fain to list" and where the speaker apparently already has an eye for all of the things his companion lists but still concludes that "they are better for her praise." Frost is quite apt at this sort of back-door romanticism and paints the most haunting pastoral scenes. But tell me what you think. Inc.
I think Frost makes intriguing use of layered personification and metaphor in this one - sorrow is personified as a women, and November, or more generally the seasons, are used as a metaphor for sorrow. Possibly. You could probably write an essay just exploring that but I'm not gonna. 
I totally agree with Wabznasm, most of Frost's poems defy simple reading, and this one is no exception.
Perhaps it's about the paradox of indulging in grief? Making the point he has learnt to love the "bare November days", but equally to recognise that he is indulging in sorrow, to "tell her so" would be to recognise (or perhaps give in to, it's hard to tell) a fault, despair, and would force the poet to pull himself out of his rut. Which he doesn't want to do because "they are better for her praise".
Possibly. It's a hopeless task to come to a fixed conclusion about what Frost is getting at in many of his poems.
I totally agree with Wabznasm, most of Frost's poems defy simple reading, and this one is no exception.
Perhaps it's about the paradox of indulging in grief? Making the point he has learnt to love the "bare November days", but equally to recognise that he is indulging in sorrow, to "tell her so" would be to recognise (or perhaps give in to, it's hard to tell) a fault, despair, and would force the poet to pull himself out of his rut. Which he doesn't want to do because "they are better for her praise".
Possibly. It's a hopeless task to come to a fixed conclusion about what Frost is getting at in many of his poems.
I didn't even know that this was a part of the website! I must confess I like Frost but only sparringly. I checked out a library book on Frost not too long ago; the only reason was to discover the depth of his Swedenborgianism. He summed it up to his search for symbols. One poem that he wrote and I am certain that everyone is familiar with is "Two Roads". That is how I like my frost nice and meek. There are some other poems that he wrote, none of which i can remember their titles, that I thought were good. I would rather read Barnes.
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twoleftfeet
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I Think Charles may have a point about being relucatant to "indulge" in negative feelings.
For me it all hinges on how you read:
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
Clearly "he" (Frost) does not leave, so who or what is "me"?
I see "me" here as the negative side of one's nature which might view Autumn and the approach of Winter as something to be dismayed about. Perversely the positive side of one's nature tunes into the time of the year and finds the underlying beauty beneath the surface sadness of the birds leaving and the trees losing their leaves etc.
Both sides of our nature co-exist, as do the beauty and the sadness of Autumn.
Geoff
For me it all hinges on how you read:
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
Clearly "he" (Frost) does not leave, so who or what is "me"?
I see "me" here as the negative side of one's nature which might view Autumn and the approach of Winter as something to be dismayed about. Perversely the positive side of one's nature tunes into the time of the year and finds the underlying beauty beneath the surface sadness of the birds leaving and the trees losing their leaves etc.
Both sides of our nature co-exist, as do the beauty and the sadness of Autumn.
Geoff
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Incusblack
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Kil, trust me, if you don't like Frost you haven't given him sufficient reading. I highly advise you to read some of the ones I listed above. They are more than what they may at first appear. Inc.
Oh yeah, Geoff, I agree totally. Speaking of wavering between two poles, what do you think of the dilemma presented in "Love and a Question"? Inc.
Oh yeah, Geoff, I agree totally. Speaking of wavering between two poles, what do you think of the dilemma presented in "Love and a Question"? Inc.