My re-visit to Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods...."

[greatjohn]

I've always loved the poem...seems more relevant now even.

[Litlerny]

“Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” is one of my faves, as well as another Frost poem, “Mending Wall.” I used them both many years ago when student teaching an English class to 9th graders. I also had the kiddies do a comparison of the outlook between Whitman’s “I hear America Singing” and Steppenwolf’s “Monster/Suicide/America.” Tried to teach the little monsters to not just read poetry, but also to think for themselves, and draw their own conclusions. I summarized the lesson by paraphrasing Dylan (no...not Dylan Thomas...the other one from Minniesnowta) with “we all see the same things. We just see them from a different point of view.” Same thing happens in here occasionally. My best was Randall Jarrell’s “Death of the Ball Turret Gunner.” Five lines that speak volumes.

[greatjohn in reply to Litlerny]

Those two poems, "Stopping" and "Mending" are my favorite poems...by R. Frost...and possibly my favorite ones, period. I wrote the "re-visiting" one a couple of years ago...this cancer keeps being compared to a "journey" ...so nothing seems more fitting than taking time from the journey to enjoy "beauty".

John

[EricE in reply to Litlerny]

My choir sang an arrangement of "Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening. One of my favorite memories from choir.

[greatjohn in reply to EricE]

Hi Eric,

yes, that poem holds a special spot in the hearts of many of the people from our generation (and older). It's nice to reflect on things that brought/bring joy.

[pjoshea13]

In terms of (PCa) relevance to me, his lines from "The Road Not Taken" come to mind:

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

-Patrick

[greatjohn in reply to pjoshea13]

I found myself quoting that one (often) as the years went by. I certainly didn't take a "normal" ...well beaten...path. And it's been "loverly".

John

[ctarleton]

If you may not have read it, you guys might find some contemporary meaning from the book ... When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi.

I recall taking the time to read it quietly aloud to myself during periods of solitude a couple of years ago, often with tears softly rolling down my cheeks.

Charles

[TNCanuck in reply to ctarleton]

I agree. Wonderfully done book.

[greatjohn]

it's on my reading list.

thanks

[dadeb]

Love it.

[Haniff]

Hi greatjohn,

Great words by Frost. Thanks for sharing.

Take care and my very best to you.

Regards,

Haniff

[greatjohn in reply to Haniff]

thanks! & My best to you as well.

[Graham49]

Magic and Loss (The Summation)

Lou Reed

When you pass through the fire

You pass through humble

You pass through a maze of self doubt

When you pass through humble

The lights can blind you

Some people never figure that out

You pass through arrogance, you pass through hurt

You pass through an ever-present past

And it's best not to wait for luck to save you

Pass through the fire to the light

As you pass through the fire

Your right hand waving

There are things you have to throw out

That caustic dread inside your head

Will never help you out

You have to be very strong

'Cause you'll start from zero

Over and over again

And as the smoke clears

There's an all-consuming fire

Lying straight ahead

They say no one person can do it all

But you want to in your head

But you can't be Joyce

So what is left instead?

You're…

[Toad1]

Frost is spot on for me too.

[CalBear74]

May you encounter the Falcon on your next walk in the woods. From Gerard Manley Hopkins,

I caught this morning morning's minion, king-

dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding

Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding

High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing

In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,

As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding

Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding

Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here

Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion

Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion

Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,

Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

[j-o-h-n]

This sends chills up my spine. (Thank you Litlerny)

Randall Jarrell’s “Death of the Ball Turret Gunner.”

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,

And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.

Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,

I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.

When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Randall Jarrell was struck by a car and killed at the age of fifty-one on October 14, 1965.

Well guys here's mine (marching with a cadence count).

"When I die bury me, hang my balls* from a cherry tree".

Sound off 1, 2 Sound off 3, 4

bring it on down,1 2 3 4, 1 2 3 4

*assuming I still have them.

Good Luck, Good Health and Good Humor.

j-o-h-n Friday 02/01/2019 2:30 PM EST