When
I hear the name Robert Frost, I cannot help to think of my 8th 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.
