Homage to Frost
This week will officially mark the coldest week of the winter so far this year. I know this in part due to the groan I heard from my husband when he looked at the weather forecast. Mind you, my husband grew up in Moscow and his mother Siberia. Winter is not something with which he lacks familiarity. Every summer, we get tales of woe of how it is too warm for her in Moscow. Every winter there is a battle to show off who has the warmer temperature. She wins this week. By far.
So, as I sit here with bits of bitter cold occasionally making their tiny escapes into the warmth of the house, I appreciate shelter, the warm tea in my mug, and the beautiful words and contemplations I am blessed now to have time to devote myself. Today, of all days, is a day to revisit one of my favorite poets from childhood: Robert Frost.
Robert Frost was quite the interesting character, it seems. Frost’s life story is far more interesting to me now that I sit here trying to organize my own thoughts into less ugly prose, than it was when I was a child, a child who never particularly cared for writing. Though not central to my appreciation of his work and its influence on me, reading his biography from both The Poetry Foundation and Wikipedia serves as inspiration. To note, my appreciation for Wikipedia is equal to that of Wal-Mart: I avoid using it, but sometimes I cave and am surprised to find what I need all in one place.
From Frost’s poetry, I would like to say I found some hidden gems to share, like my recent discovery of a book Mark Twain had written that I had never heard of before. (Again, have to thank
. Here’s the post I wrote about it.) No, I think my favorite are the favorites almost everyone knows: The Road Not Taken & Stopping By the Woods. [*Since both of these poems came to be in the public domain January 1, 2019, I have also included them in this post. The Road Not Taken link above does also include a recorded reading of the poem.]Though I would hope these two poems are well-known to all, I think it is well worth taking time out to remember, to reminisce, to contemplate how much has happened since the first time we read these magical poems. How many forks in the road have we encountered in life? Which path did we choose? How many times have we stopped and pondered the beauty surrounding us, like the woods filling with snow, before feeling compelled to dash on to our next activity? Perhaps uttering an observation only to be thought or dismissed as weird?
This post is meant as a homage to Frost, who unbeknownst to me as a child memorizing his poems, was destined through his poetry to influence my perspective in life. The first poem gifted me with the freedom to choose a path wanting wear, understanding and accepting the loss of not choosing the other. The second gifted me with permission to take a long moment to appreciate the beauty around me, no matter how I may be perceived and no matter how much of a journey of tasks lay ahead of me.
“And I, I chose the one less traveled by. And that made all the difference.”
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
As a parting thought, I love this post by Noelle Hill: Winter Rituals. For me, every time it gets cold, I think of Robert Frost. I think this year I will follow another writer’s wisdom and add in candlelight, good food, and good music!
Thank you for joining me. I would love to hear your thoughts!