The Road Not Taken By Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken-- By 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

     I wanted this poem to be my final for a response because out of all poems I have read it is not only one of the best written moments in history but because it is an inspiring example of poetry's ability to use its hold on a reader to send a message.  My father showed me this poem along with Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening when I was very young, a told me about the meanings and nuances in the language, the different tools that the poet used to craft this masterpiece.  He always stressed to me the importance of simplicity and crisp words (a lesson I have obviously neglected).  The true poem is not read but sung by the mind, and the musical structure of The Road Not Taken is undeniable. This poem stands as testament to the skill of Frost, and as an example of America's voice throughout time to come.

"Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us" written by Sam Phillips and performed by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant

"Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us"

Strange things are happening everyday
I hear the music up above my head
Though the sight of my heart has left me again
I hear music up above

Secrets are written in the sky
Looks like I've lost the love I've never found
Though the sound of hope has left me again
I hear music up above

Standing in my broken heart all night long
Darkness held me like a friend when love wore off
Looking for the Lamb that's hidden in the Cross
The finder's lost
I know I loved you too much
I'll go alone to get through

I hear Rosetta singing in the night
Echos of light that shines like stars after they're gone
And tonight she's my guide as I go on alone
With the music up above

     Using allusion to biblical symbols, metaphor, and personification, Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us brings a haunting feel and an aura of twilight to the listener.  Referring to Christ as "the Lamb that's hidden in the Cross",  Phillips immerses the audience in the quiet reverence reserved for holy grounds, adding to the intrigue of the song.  This mystery is made to creep upon the listener by the metaphor of the pained singer's journey through darkness, guided by "the music from above".  Finally, the personification of Darkness as an comforting stranger who embraces the troubled soul adds eeriness to the gloomy scene.  It is as if the listener can feel the Sun setting and the last echoes of light fall upon him,  And now that the analytical part of the response is over, we can get to the meat of the song.  Sung by Alison Krauss in a chilling tone, with slow, rhythmic musical accompaniments that further set a mood of a slow descent into the night.  The song espouses the virtues of verse more than most songs not with its delivery of a specific tale or story, but with its artistic evocation of a faint memory, a nearly forgotten moment on the edge of the mind's boundaries.  It plays sweetly but with a lingering sense of emptiness.  And ultimately the song leaves the listener grasping out for its notes and voices that seem to end abruptly, as if the passage of time had quickened.  

My life has been the poem by Henry David Thoreau

My life has been the poem by Henry David Thoreau

My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it. 

     It is frequently the case in poetry that the most powerful verse is also the simplest, most concise thought expressed in a matching brevity.  Thoreau proves this with My life has been the poem, one of the most meaningful ideas I have ever been exposed to, in poetry or any other venue.  Without the pomp and circumstance of many writers (I know, pot-to-the-kettle) he delivers a forced embrace of one's works, both past and future.  With nineteen words he is able to make the reader question his or her life, to make them plan or scheme for something that they have longed for but never really labored towards.  No direct criticism, no appeal to moral or ethical law, no puritanical fervor, but also no praise or commendation is found within these two lines.  A simple statement of reasoning is all that is expressed, and yet a profound effect is produced, not by Thoreau, but by the reader's own perception and belief in the words.  Bouncing to and fro throughout their mind, the poem lends itself as a catalyst, and with one spark of imagination or hope, a conflagration is ignited.  The burning spreads throughout the mind-scape, giving precedence to forgotten memories and dreams, clearing the detritus from the neural pathways and allowing regrowth to take over and flourish.  Inspiring, potent, and most of all provoking, My life has been the poem by Henry David Thoreau is a classic of American poetic style, and one of the greatest poems of all time.

Alive (written by Kenny Chesney, Dean Dillon and Mark Tamburino, performed by Kenny Chesney and Dave Matthews)

Alive (written by Kenny Chesney, Dean Dillon and Mark Tamburino, performed by Kenny Chesney and Dave Matthews)

So damn easy to say that life’s so hard

Everybody’s got their share of battle scars

As for me, I’d like to thank my lucky stars

That I’m alive and well

It’d be easy to add up all the pain

And all the dreams you sat and watched go up in flames

Dwell on the wreckage as it smolders in the rain

But not me, I’m alive.

And today, you know, that’s good enough for me

Breathing in and out’s a blessing, can’t you see

Today’s the first day of the rest of my life

And I’m alive and well

Yeah, I’m alive and well.

Stars are dancin’ on the water here tonight.

It’s good for the soul when there’s not a soul in sight

This boat has caught it’s wind and brought me back to life

Now I’m alive and well.

And today, you know, that’s good enough for me

Breathing in and out’s a blessing, can’t you see

Today’s the first day of the rest of my life

And I’m alive and well

Yeah, I’m alive and well.

     This song is an inspirational one-two.  The beautiful rhythm established by the words themselves appears even when the lyrics are read, before they are ever sung.  The imagery of a lone boat on the midnight sea brings an eerie peace to the scene, as if  another plane of existence has been reached by the sailor.  Despite, or rather because of, the lack of people the seascape assumes an aura not of desolation, but of a comforting sense of self, a grasp of one's innate nature and being.  Loneliness gives no excuse to misery, says the song.  Even as one's earthly possessions crumble into ashen dust, life persists to give meaning and purpose, a blessing that endures all other suffering.  Rather than give in to despair, the words espouse that the darkness be embraced, so that all gifts come into clearer focus.  And with this, one can achieve contentment.

Love in Vain ( originally written by Robert Johnson, and altered by the Rolling Stones)

 Love in Vain ( originally written by Robert Johnson, and altered by the Rolling Stones)

Well I followed her to the station
With a suitcase in my hand.
Yeah, I followed her to the station
With a suitcase in my hand.
Whoa, it's hard to tell, it's hard to tell
When all your love's in vain.

When the train come in the station
I looked her in the eye.
Well the train come in the station
And I looked her in the eye.
Whoa, I felt so sad so lonesome,
That I could not help but cry.

When the train left the station
It had two lights on behind.
Yeah, when the train left the station
It had two lights on behind.
Whoa, the blue light was my baby,
And the red light was my mind.

All my love was in vain.
All my love's in vain.

This song, aside from being one of the most beloved blues songs of the icon Robert Johnson, was adapted by the Rolling Stones who contributed to its meteoric rise in popularity.  However, when closely examining the style of the song one can see how well the repetition of lines enforces the deep, raw heartache accompanied by the loss of a love so completely consuming.  The tone exposes the listener the listener to the void left by the absence, and the feeling not of being torn asunder, but of being drained instantly of the conviction that is part of such a strong feeling.  Now that the critical commentary is over, the fun stuff begins.  This song is awesome, in the literal sense of the word.  Such simple structure is rarely the basis of such profound depth and meaning, however American Blues gives the world a plethora of meaning with words that would not be out of place in a passing conversation, a brief catching up by friends in a bar, or a farm or factory floor.  The beauty of this style is its straight forward expression.  With no frills, no complex metaphysical conundrums to decipher, the song of the blues man (or woman) is truly penetrating.  The accoutrement that are found sewn onto the surface of many poems are frequently, in my opinion,  obstructions to the power of art.  Be it a overused color palette or an unnecessarily flowery diction, the garnishes of art are frequently overpowering.  Blues lyricists show the naked power of an appeal to human emotion unencumbered by such blandishment, found only in those souls daring enough to give freely of their hearts and woes, selfless enough to use their pain to craft something of comfort and grace.  This is why "Love in Vain" is a truly great song, and one that should be honored as a paragon of a truly American style. 

Link to YouTube of Love in Vain from the album "Let it Bleed"

Nothing Stays by Mark van Doren

Nothing Stays by Mark van Doren

Nothing stays
not even change,
That can grow tired
of it's own name;
The very thought
too much for it.

Somewhere in air
a stillness is,
So far, so thin-
But let it alone.
Whoever we are
it is not for us 

 This poem called to my ever-present fascination with the mortal, transitory nature of existence that the human condition ails us with.  Morose curiosity was not the only thing that drew me to one of Mark van Doren's most renowned works, however.  The structure of the poem seemed abrasive, as if it went against the grain of my mind.  It has a unique rhythm that I have never come across, a certain tempo to it that made me read it more slowly, more carefully.  The emptying world suggested by the first six lines brings to mind images of a black hole, consuming all into one space, bending and capturing even light in its race across the universe.  Ancient and unyielding, the laws of nature force all to succumb to the fragility of being.  There exists a place of repose, a sanctuary from all-consuming time, suggests the last half of the poem.  However, this place is a mirage, an El Dorado for man, who can grasp it as well as one can hold the wind in their hands.  A beautiful piece of art, this poem is one of my new found favorites, catalyzing my mind to philosophical wanderings and day dreams of eternity.

A Valentine by Edgar Allan Poe

A Valentine by Edgar Allan Poe

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do. 

      While scouring the web for an acceptably brief poem, I happened upon this work of Poe's and decided for today's sake to blog it.  On the surface the poem is a beautifully written dedication to a love interest. On the first read-through I had it pegged as another eloquent testimony to the expression capabilities provided by verse.  However, when I examined the piece further, the poem reveals itself as a testament to the inadequacy of the written word to convey the feeling of love, the fluid, unyielding force that has driven mankind to both its zenith and its nadir.  The author begs the reader to embrace the poem's every word, every syllable, all nuances and subtleties, trying to transfer the workings of his heart to the recipient with a medium that cannot suffice.  Poe is not belittling the intelligence of his love, but lamenting the confines within which he must work.  Even a master such as he is bound to the skill of his language, which cannot compare to the emotions we humans are blessed and cursed with.  In any event, happy St. Valentine's day to everybody. 

A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


     They must have stole the idea for Inception from Edgar Allan Poe.  I mean, come on, a parted love who thinks that their partner is in a dream, a sandy beach, a dream in a dream, what else do you need for proof? In all seriousness this poem is an excellent work.  The words seem to flow like music through the mind when I read them, drawing my focus and letting me paint an imaginary canvas full of enigmas and confusion.  This poem is a testament to Poe's ability to make you question fundamental realities, an ability that helped him pioneer the mystery genre with newer, darker elements.  With the inclusion of a secondary figure to judge the speaker's insanity, Poe sets up the speaker's own doubts about reality.  the imagery of grains of sand falling through someone's grasp is a deft inclusion which, although late in the poem, helps to tear down the barely present structure in the poem's setting, undermining the world that the reader has already created in their mind for the poem. And, in destroying the creation of his own words, Poe allows his audience to fill in the blanks once more, this time with greater depth.  Masterfully written, and thought provoking, "A Dream Within A Dream" is classic Poe. 

Warm Summer Sun by Mark Twain

Warm Summer Sun
by Mark Twain
Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here, Warm southern wind, Blow softly here. Green sod above, Lie light, lie light. Good night, dear heart, Good night, good night.               Mark Twain is best known for his wit and use of satire, however this poem exhibits his ability to channel genuine contentment into verse. Gut-busting humor, caustic social messages,  and the like tend to lend heavily to amusement and change, but poetry's  ability to preserve a moment of happiness cannot be neglected.  Poetry can take on the form of a time capsule,allowing memories to be  revisited and embraced long after fleeting days have slipped  away, allowing us to put time in a bottle as Jim Croce sang. Everyone  could use something to brighten their day, and Warm Summer Sun does just that.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
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. 

 

  This poem, one of the most famous in the world, seems to have an eerily pertinent message.  Having traveled around the globe, living in different countries, visiting places across America and Asia, I am uniquely disturbed by the apathy with which so many treat priceless moments such as the one Frost illustrates here.  With transportation and communication linking the entire globe, the tranquil contentment found in a simple vision of falling snow in the woods, rain falling on plains, or fog drifting through the mountains is becoming endangered.  The bustle of modern life leaves little room for such luxuries, and necessity dictates that we rush to meet the looming deadlines which tower over us.  I have seen the opposite end of the spectrum, however, while staying at my great-grandfather's home in the Great Smoky Mountains.  Icicles glittering along the sheer cliffs, warm colored leaves blanketing the undergrowth, all remind me of the innately captivating essence of nature.  Society cannot afford to miss moments like these.  So the next time you find yourself gazing out the car window deep in the country, take it in.  Hold it in your mind, use it as the habitation of your thoughts.  Otherwise you might go without a pure, unparalleled joy that all should experience.  

The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary

     Depression is becoming overwhelmed by negative emotions or feelings, allowing them to blanket the sky and hide the all that is light from view.  This creates a whirlpool, drawing people into the bottom of the metaphorical sea, and into the abyss below.  Even the memories of the green years of youth turn into an ever tangible reminder of the disparity between it and the present.  These lines comprising Longfellow's poem show these facets of mental and emotional exhaustion.  With a withering wind biting at the last emaciated vine growing along the wall (the narrator's thoughts growing along the past), the more beneficent passions of life are being eroded. All early ambitions seem to be extinguished by the hazards of such endeavors, leaving a disheartened being.  However, the motif of a spirit void of joy is broken by the final lines of the poem. Showing true strength the plagued narrator fights on, and resolves to break through the grip of the dreary, as soon as the appointed time has passed.  Overall I believe this is an excellent poem which shows the power of spirit to mend frays and continue to cloth the humanity of humans.

Review of "Eldorado" by Edgar Allen Poe

Eldorado is a brief poem by Edgar Allen Poe which follows a knight on a journey to the legendary golden city.  Much like those who search for the fountain of youth, the tree of life, and other such mythical places the knight is met with an impossible task.  As he searches and searches his energy is sapped by his ambition.  He ages rapidly, experiencing life as a lustful search for that miracle on Earth.  As he begins to realize his folly, he starts to lose his momentum, despairing that he will never find city, when he happens upon a shade.  When asked were Eldorado may be found the being answers "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, down the Valley of the Shadow", instructing the knight to ride on if he wishes to find the fable of South America.  This poem does an excellent job of illustrating the futility of endeavors that ask one to devote a lifetime to a faint glimmer of hope that promises untold riches or immortality, and is one of my personal favorites.