Any other Robert Frost fans?

Question

I love the simplicity of his poems-- the way he writes about everyday observations that he makes. I can't get into poems that sound formal. I enjoy too the way he writes in plain everyday English.

Any other Robert Frost lovers out there? What do you like about his poetry?

Answer 1

Frost's poems are very formal. He is the one who said that writing poetry without meter/form is like playing tennis without a net.

Answer 2

Robert Frost is the best poet of the 20th Century - American or otherwise.

I don't know how much of his poetry you have read and the examples cited here are certainly well known examples

Frost wrote a number of poems that are not so simple and are full of hidden imagery and meaning. This is the real reason I admire his work.

An example of this is found in his New Hampshire Collection,; Enjoy!

IN A DISUSED GRAVE YARD

The living come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.

Answer 3

Robert Frost's poetry is deceptively complex. He sometimes uses rhyme in varying forms and patterns, but often uses meter and internal rhyme alone to make his lines almost hypnotic. In the last poem posted above this response to your question, you'll see that he outlines so much imagry in the bending of birches, how both young boys and nature bend them, but to different purposes and by different methods. The one signifies youth, the other the advance of time and nature. He then returns to the image of the boy after citing how his advance in years has made him think of his own demise and how'd he'd like "to go", but not willing to rush things with only half the wish granted, he makes the final turn of the poem a logical progression, effortlessly done, by using the metaphor of a boy climbing up to heaven and returning to Earth mean his eventual accension to heaven and rebirth to mortal form. Many poems take you only half way there, Frost's poems take you there and back again...before you even realized you left...and THAT is the magic of Robert Frost.

Answer 4

Robert Frost rules!

Answer 5

YES! Two Roads Diverged is an amazing poem! It is just what people need to know to get there life together!

Answer 6

I love Robert frost as his poems are like soft lovely music to the ears,His poems are so descriptive that if you close your eyes it seems like your there,I don;t think there will ever be another as great as he,.

Answer 7

Heck yes! love his poetry! omg, it's awesome. I like it because, yes, they are simple in yet amazing! You can easily understand what he was going for as far a mood and feeling in the poems.

Answer 8

Robert Frost is da bomb, the original pimp, yo!

Answer 9

yess
my fav is the one about snow falling in the woods
"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"
its beautiful

Answer 10

my favorite of many....he is one of the BEST writers of all time. (my opinion)
and this is my favorite work: Birches

WHEN I see birches bend to left and right
Across the line of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again 3
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches;
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.