{Journal entry #13} My Frost Brings all the Form to the Yard

Frost was one of those names I often heard thrown around in film and TV Shows, but it wasn't until I read his essay "The Figure a Poem Makes" (anthologized in The Best American Essays of the Century) that I became interested in him. The essay we read on him by Robert Kern discussed whether he can be considered a modernist and why. Kern's conclusion is somewhat ambivalent: "Frost's poem, it seems to me, can similarly be read as an entertaining myth or as a (...) a revelation of continuity. What I am suggesting, though, is that it is precisely the latter reading that allows for location of the poem in a modern context, one in which the poet discovers that his poem, and his very language, are conditioned if not caused by history". And I agree. I think there is a case to be made that a return to simpler forms and/or looking back to a unifying factor is as valid and natural a response to convoluted modern times as Eliot's alienation and fragmentation. On the other hand, if you consider modernism as a deliberate movement towards miscommunication, ditching of form, rebellion against all the old, and innovation at all costs, then, well, that's not Frost.

In class, we had a small debate about whether Frost is closer to the romantics or the modernists, and although I had to defend the former, my true opinion lies somewhere in between. I think the tone and feel of his poems is purely modernist; the exhaustion, the isolation, the disconnection (and it makes sense, as Frost, like any human, was largely a product of his times), but aesthetically and formally, I believe what I know of his poetry to be closer to Keats than to Eliot. 

However you want to classify him, the truth is that Frost took full advantage of form (meter in particular) to produce his effects, and I wanted to highlight "The road not-taken" (above) as a beautiful example of his talents (ironically, it has kind of an awful story that you might want to blissful ignore). 

From the professor's selection, I chose these two for their simple beauty and bittersweet communion with nature.

Is the speaker tired, dreading his "miles to go before I sleep" or is he used to it and delights in it? He clearly would love to stay in the woods, which "are lovely, dark and deep," but as he has "promises to keep" he will move on. Once again, my personal answer lies in the middle. I think part of the point is that tension between the delightful beauty and the exhaustion; perhaps it's my own optimism adding to the reading, but even in the tired tone I detect stoic resignation and desire to move forward, fueled by the beauty of the "woods and frozen lake". A similar mood to the one expressed in the following poem:

There is appreciative resignation, is the best way I can describe it. "So Eden sank to grief" is a strongly negative line, but it is somehow balanced with "So dawn goes down to day", which hints at the cyclic inevitability of the process. It is sad, that "nothing gold can stay", but appreciating it through the poem is a beautiful experience, an opportunity for reflection.

This is all for now, sadly. There is much more of Frost to discover, in much deeper ways, so I'm looking forward to picking up a full collection of his work in the near future (and perhaps reading a few more essays on his craft).