To Time it never seems that he is brave
To set himself against the peaks of snow
Nor lay them level with the running wave,
Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low,
But only grave, contemplative and grave.
What now is inland shall be ocean isle,
Then eddies playing round a sunken reef
Like the curl at the corner of a smile;
And I could share Time's lack of joy or grief
At such a planetary change of style.
I could give all to Time - except except
What I myself have held. But why declare
The things forbidden that while the Customs slept
I have crossed to safety with? For I am there
And what I would not part with I have kept.
Robert Frost, 1942
A rather difficult poem (the odd syntax of the penultimate lines I find confusing). I found it copied out by hand, by myself, amongst papers I have been cleaning through. I have a vague notion I came across the poem while reading about William Styron (his book "Crossing to Safety" refers to this poem) although I don't know why I was doing so, because I haven't read any Styron. Did he die recently? Was I reading an epitaph? Or maybe his birthday on Writer's Almanac?
I love the rhythms and images of this powerful poem, but I don't think it is one of Frost's best.
2 comments:
We've got the Wallace Stegner work in the book case ~ did you see it there and it took a while to reverberate?
Or did you see the Frost library book/cd I checked out last week? "Voice of the Poet" ~ Frost reading 35 of his poems with a booklet overview. Unfortunately this poem is not on the cd.
Thank you for posting this. I've not read it for a year or two, and it remains one of my fav. Frost works, despite the nasty cadence.
Nasty cadence? I like the rhythms. I love his sonnets. I simply think that something is wrong with the poem that I have puzzled over the last three lines for, probably literally, hours, and I don't understand them. Or rather, I do get the underlying meaning, but I can't work out the literal meaning. My short term memory is too small -- I've forgotten the first clause by the time I trying adding in the last clause.
It's good poetry because at least I'm getting the subtext.
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