The Poetry of Frost by Robert Frost

First published:A Boy’s Will, 1913; North of Boston, 1914; Mountain Interval, 1916; New Hampshire: A Poem with Notes and Grace Notes, 1923; West-Running Brook, 1928; A Further Range, 1936; A Witness Tree, 1942; A Masque of Reason, 1945; Steeple Bush, 1947; A Masque of Mercy, 1947; How Not to Be King, 1951

Type of work: Poetry

Critical Evaluation:

They would not find me changed fromhim they knew—Only more sure of all I thought wastrue.

In a sense this early prediction by Robert Frost is an accurate description of the course of his writing career: Frost’s poetry has not changed; it has simply grown stronger. The dominant characteristics of his work—his impeccable ear for the rhythms of speech; his realistic handling of nature that transcends the ordinary “love” we ascribe to poets of the outdoors; his revelation of human character by means of dramatic events his warm philosophy that combines a whimsical poet with a dirt farmer whose feet are not only planted on the ground but in it—all these qualities were apparent (at least to some readers) early in his career. And they are still there, handled with greater precision, displaying more depth. As an example of this strengthening process, this growth of sapling into tree, look first at the little poem, “The Pasture,” the last stanza of which invites the reader into Frost’s A BOY’S WILL:

I’m going out to fetch the little calfThat’s standing by the mother. It’s soyoung,It totters when she licks it with hertongue.I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come too.

The Frost charm is evident in these lines, but there is also a somewhat juvenile, Rilevesque quality. When one compares “The Pasture” with “Come In,” a much later and firmer treatment of the same general theme, the superior diction is immediately apparent in such magnificent lines as these:

Far in the pillared darkThrush music went—Almost like a call to come inTo the dark and lament.

But equally apparent is a greater depth of psychological complexity, a stronger suggestion of the “death wish” that John Ciardi discusses in his controversial analysis of “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” the more famous lyric to which “Come In” is certainly a superb companion piece.

Frost has not changed, only grown surer; but there has been an amazing change, down through the years, in the attitude taken toward his poems. First, his fellow Americans could not see this most American of writers as a poet at all; it was necessary for him to go to England to be hailed for his talent. Secondly, when the English had pointed him out to us, we catalogued him as another cold New England poet who saw everything in black and white. This astonishing judgment becomes superegregious when we consider that A BOY’S WILL contains a poem of such warm understanding as “The Tuft of Flowers” and that NORTH OF BOSTON, his second volume, includes “The Death of the Hired Man,” “Home Burial,” and “The Fear,” three dramatic poems that are intensely emotional. After Frost’s reputation finally became established, the critics forced him into a third stage of his career: he was recognized as a major poet, but one not very interesting to talk or write about because his poetry was thought too simple and because Frost held aloof from the free-verse poets whose efforts, he felt, lacked discipline. Now, at last, Frost has entered a fourth period in which his great talents are fully recognized, and he is regarded as a poet of far more depth and subsurface complexity than anyone had previously realized. Two of Frost’s poems that are provocative enough to satisfy the most eager analyst are “Directive,” with its Grail imagery, and “The Subverted Flower,” with its tantalizing psychological horror.

But Frost will always be a poet more loved than analyzed. He expresses himself in such an attractive way that his readers identify themselves with the poet; they would like to be Frost. The descriptive lines one finds in “After Apple Picking,” for example, have a perfection that seems the only, the inevitable, way of describing the dream that the poet feels coming on. Many other poems by Frost contain this same perfection of word choice. “Two Tramps in Mud Time” is so meticulously written (and yet so effortless, with its touches of the famous Frost wit) that the reader feels surrounded by April weather; and he clearly sees those two hulking tramps who stand around idly, waiting for the poet to hire them to chop his wood.

If Frost had limited his poetry to descriptive and philosophical lyrics, he would still rank as a major poet; fortunately, his poems are also full of people, characters who are understandable and vividly real. In “The Death of the Hired Man” four people come alive: Mary, the sympathetic wife; Warren, the practical, somewhat cynical husband; Harold Wilson, the boy “who studied Latin like the violin because he liked it”; and Silas, the harmlessly wastrel hired man who had come “home” to die. Other people are scattered like old friends throughout the poems: Magoon, the timid professor, and Lafe, the burly bill collector, in “A Hundred Collars”; the casual witch in “The Witch of Coos”; the newlyweds who philosophize so well in “West-Running Brook”; the old farmer in “The Mountain” who lives at the foot of a mountain he refuses to climb simply because he sees no practical reason for doing so; and that other dour farmer in “Brown’s Descent” who takes a hilarious ride down a mountain on a slick crust of snow.

There are others equally memorable, but perhaps the outstanding character in all the poems is Frost himself. Everything he writes is warmed by his own personality, and he emerges from his volumes as a great and charming man who feels deeply but who never breaks the restraining tether of good taste. Emotional but never overly sentimental, he is dramatic but never melodramatic, conservative but not reactionary, sometimes pessimistic but never defeated, humorous without being flippant.

Trying to sum up the beguiling effect of Frost’s outlook on life is difficult, for his writing personality is many-sided. Certainly he strikes the reader as a man who looks at life in a way that is both poetic and practical. The concluding lines of “Birches” beautifully illustrate this remarkable blend. In the poem the speaker has expressed a desire “to get away from earth awhile” and then come back for a new start:

I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,And climb black branches up a snow-white trunkToward heaven, till the tree could bearno more,But dipped its top and set me downagain.That would be good both going andcoming back.One could do worse than be a swingerof birches.

Frost’s wise outlook is not always concerned with only the broad generalities of life; sometimes he becomes specific about the events of our times, as in “To a Thinker,” which gives advice to a President, and in “U. S. 1946 King’s X,” which is a mordant piece of irony:

Having invented a new Holocaust,And been the first with it to win a war,How they make haste to cry with fingerscrossed,King’s X—no fairs to use it any more!

A poet must be more than a dramatist, an analyst of human emotion, a humorist, and a philosopher: he must above all be a poet. Frost meets this difficult test. He chooses to write in the rhythms of human speech, and by sounding as natural as a man talking to his neighbor in simple language he has produced some of America’s greatest poetry. His approach seems casual and disarming, rather like that of a champion athlete who breaks records without straining, who never tries too hard. To claim perfection for anyone—athlete or poet—is absurd. Frost has his defects. At times he is like a kindly teacher whose whimsicality is so sly as to be irritating, whose wisdom sometimes descends to mere crankiness. But Frost has written magnificent poetry—simple, sure, strong. Listen to this beautiful (but not often quoted) lyric called “Moon Compasses”:

I stole forth dimly in the dripping pauseBetween two downpours to see whatthere was.And a masked moon had spread downcompass raysTo a cone mountain in the midnighthaze,As if the final estimate were hers,And as it measured in her calipers,The mountain stood exalted in its place.So love will take between the hands aface.

Bibliography

Bloom, Harold, ed. Robert Frost. Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 2003.

Burnshaw, Stanley. Robert Frost Himself. New York: George Braziller, 1986.

Faggen, Robert. Robert Frost and the Challenge of Darwin. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997.

Galbraith, Astrid. New England as Poetic Landscape: Henry David Thoreau and Robert Frost. New York: Peter Lang, 2003.

Gerber, Philip L. Robert Frost. Rev. ed. Boston: Twayne, 1982.

Lathem, Edward Connery. Robert Frost: A Biography. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1981.

Meyers, Jeffrey. Robert Frost: A Biography. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1996.

Poirier, Richard. Robert Frost: The Work of Knowing. New York: Oxford University Press, 1977.

Potter, James L. The Robert Frost Handbook. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1980.

Pritchard, William H. Frost: A Literary Life Reconsidered. New York: Oxford University Press, 1984.

Thompson, Lawrance Roger, and R. H. Winnick. Robert Frost: A Biography. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1982.