More Than Just Words

When I hear the name Robert Frost, I cannot help to think of my 8^th grade English teacher, energetically reciting Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” She would end each sentence with a high-pitched inflection in her voice, which made the poem almost feel like a children’s story. But reading more of Robert Frost’s poems on my own, I am glad to see that he has so much more than just “The Road Not Taken,” even though it is one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost. I enjoy Robert Frost primarily for his robust imagery he uses within his poems. Robert Frost is known for distinct diction style, which for the average reader can be difficult to understand or to merely read his poems. Each time I read one of Robert Frost’s poems, I felt as if I was diving into a new, undiscovered world. Frost pulls the reader in with his descriptive elements of nature, and can almost make you feel as if you are actually there. For example, in Robert Frost’s “The Wood Pile,” from the very beginning of the poem, I felt as if I was going on the same journey Frost was describing and could feel the “hard snow” hold my feet into the ground.

            Robert Frost uses a great deal of imagery in most of his poems, but for some reason, “The Wood Pile” stood out to me the most. The “frozen swamp one gray day,” the view of the “tall slim trees,” the playful competition with the bird he saw, and my favorite, the description of the actual woodpile. Frost writes,

The wood was gray and the bark warping off it

And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis

Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.

What held it though on one side was a tree

Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,

These latter about to fall. I thought that only

Someone who lived in turning fresh tasks

Could so forget his handiwork on which

He spent himself, the labor of his ax,

And leave it there far from a useful fireplace

To warm the frozen swamp as best it could

With the slow smokeless burning of decay.

This woodpile is obviously just a dead, rotting pile of wood that someone left behind, but in some strange way, Frost makes this dead woodpile paradoxically come to life. His descriptions of the journey to the woodpile, and even the imagery of the woodpile itself, drew me into this snowy, Narnia-esque world that Frost created. I felt the serenity of nature and could almost hear the silence of the dark, gray afternoon. In the middle of the poem, the sojourner has a playful/competitive interaction with a little bird he finds. I enjoyed how Frost personifies the bird, and if he had not explicitly stated that he saw a bird, it could have almost been like he was describing another person in the sojourner’s midst. The bird was personified with human characteristics, and in a way had a mind of its own. Frost’s “The Wood Pile,” was amazing to read, and while there are many aspects of his poem I more than likely missed or skipped over, Frost’s descriptive language and imagery made this poem real for me.

            In the same way, Mary Oliver is known for her nature themed poetry. She was born in 1935 in Maple Heights, Ohio, but continues her writing career today. For most of her life, Oliver lived in Provincetown, Massachusetts, which is similar to Frost’s residency as well. Mary Oliver reminded me a great deal of Robert Frost, that I almost felt as if they could have been related in someway. Oliver’s sweet, peaceful depiction of nature in her poetry is enjoyable and the images throughout her poetry seem to leap off the page.

Mary Oliver’s “White Eyes,” greatly reminded me of Robert Frost. Although both poems are starkly different in form, rhyme scheme/meter, even in the way they evoke very different emotions, both poems do reveal very clear imagery about them. For instance, in Mary Oliver’s poem, the reader can visualize the setting of nature and can hear the sound of the bird singing in the “tops of the trees.” Again, beginning in line 21 Oliver uses distinct descriptive words to describe the bird, which make the bird come alive to the reader.

I don't know the name of this bird,

    I only imagine his glittering beak

         tucked in a white wing

             while the clouds—

which he has summoned

    from the north—

         which he has taught

             to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall

    into the world below

         like stars, or the feathers

               of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,

    that is asleep now, and silent—

         that has turned itself

             into snow.

 As Oliver continues to describe the appearance of the bird, the bird itself has a personality of its own. Similarly to Frost she personifies the singing bird, gives the bird human characteristics. Oliver’s poem is shorter and more simply structured than Frost’s, but overall both poems portray beautiful imagery of nature. The descriptions in each poem make the poems more than just words on a page, but when read carefully and with close attention, the reader will begin to draw close into the poem, and feel apart of the world these writers create.