Oct 15, 2004
Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)
"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper." --Robert Frost
Robert Lee Frost was born in San Francisco on March 26, 1874. President Kennedy presented him with the Congressional Medal in 1962. The winner of four Pulitzer Prizes (1924, 1931, 1937 & 1943), Frost is perhaps best known for his poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I didn't see the end until I got to it.
Every poem is a voyage of discovery.
I go in to see if I can get out, like you go to the North Pole.
Once you've said the first line, the rest of it's got to be.
Robert Frost died in Boston, on January 29, 1963 and is buried in Bennington, Vermont. The inscription on his gravestone is "I had a lover's quarrel with the world". He is considered the most popular American poet of the twentieth century and some say the best poet ever, anywhere!
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN - Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
One thing I care about, and wish young people could care about it, is taking poetry as the first form of understanding. Say it: my favorite form of understanding. If poetry isn't understanding all, the whole world, then it isn't worth anything. Young poets forget that poetry must include the mind as well as the emotions. Too many poets delude themselves by thinking the mind is dangerous and must be left out. Well, the mind is dangerous and must be left in.
For a collection of his works, read: http://www.robertfrost.org/books.html
Posted at 11:55 pm by freud
Dec 29, 2003
The vast ocean
The unlimited dreams
The small tiny cruises
The limited life
the tiny little cruises are
on the vast ocean,
my limited life is
on the road of fantasy -
a pathway directing to
the world of dreams.
the small cruises have
their own values:
they transport people
from one place to another,
and open up linkages
between different nations
Its goal is to arrive to
another port through
the vast yet deep ocean.
My life, perhaps,
has its own value too.
I question myself:
"So, what is my value of life?
Why am I living?
Do I have ultimate life goals?"
All these questions on my mind
are left unanswered.
They have become
the treasures of the vast ocean...
Written by Jilly M. on 22th December, 2003, 01:15 AM on Star Cruise
© 2003 Jilly M. All Rights Reserved.
Posted at 02:34 am by freud
Dec 13, 2003
You know I never could explain
The way I lost my heart to you that day
But if destiny decided I should look the other way
Then the world would never know
The greatest story ever told
Posted at 02:17 pm by freud
Nov 9, 2003
"I have almost forgot the taste of fears.
The time has been my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night shriek, and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me."
----Will - Macbeth
Posted at 11:14 am by freud
Oct 20, 2003
This is my letter to the world
Dickinson is simply unlike any other poet; her compact, forceful language, characterized formally by long disruptive dashes, heavy iambic meters, and angular, imprecise rhymes, is one of the singular literary achievements of the nineteenth century. Her aphoristic style, whereby substantial meanings are compressed into very few words, can be daunting, but many of her best and most famous poems are comprehensible even on the first reading. During her lifetime, Dickinson published hardly any of her massive poetic output (fewer than ten of her nearly 1,800 poems) and was utterly unknown as a writer. After Dickinson's death, her sister discovered her notebooks and published the contents, thus, presenting America with a tremendous poetic legacy that appeared fully formed and without any warning. As a result, Dickinson has tended to occupy a rather uneasy place in the canon of American poetry; writers and critics have not always known what to make of her. Today, her place as one of the two finest American poets of the nineteenth century is secure: Along with Whitman, she literally defines the very era that had so little palpable impact on her poetry.
|THIS is my letter to the world,
| That never wrote to me,—
|The simple news that Nature told,
| With tender majesty.|
|Her message is committed
| To hands I cannot see;
|For love of her, sweet countrymen,
| Judge tenderly of me!|
Posted at 01:16 am by freud
"Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought." - Bergson, Henri Louis