I picked up a Robert Frost and an Emily Dickinson collection today from the library. It was a bright and fresh evening, way too pleasant for a January 4 o'clock. I just could not resist the urge of sitting on the staircase in the orange-ish golden sunlight and enjoy the slight chill with some classic poetry. So I took the Emily Dickinson's new poems collection and started reading that one first as I knew once I start reading Frost, I can never go back to anyone else. He is my favorite. And as I thought, before the sun-rays sported more than one more coating of orange, Frost's "You come too" was in my hand.
I am a first time reader of Emily Dickinson. She is nice, very poetic and flowing. But I need to read more of her before I write about her. This blog is dedicated to the ever-young American nature lover, Robert Frost.
I reclined on a cold metal railing in the chilly evening as I read -
"I had for my winter evening walk -
No one at all with whom to talk"
Hmm.....there you go. Close your eyes and imagine, having a lonely winter evening walk - you can probably imagine a lonely path with serene darkness of lackluster light, and probably you can feel the chill in the air tickling your nose and ears. I could faintly hear the murmur of dry leaves as you step on them and then continue reading....
"But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow"
Aaahhh.....there you can see the snow accumulated on the window niches and ledges, glittering from the reflection of light inside the row of small rural cottages.
"And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces."
So this is a warm nice place, probably after the supper by the fireplace. There is light, there is music and there is glimpse of the household catching your eyesight and you probably feel the comfort. You see the picture so neat. You see the joy and warmth of youth which you can bask in if you go inside. But.....
"I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back"
You are the eternal human mind. You don't see the bliss lying by the road you cross until you cross it. So you chase behind your dream as the hope gives you company till you see those cottages. The company of your love, the company of your lover or the company of your ambitions. Till the time you see lights around, you expect more and you walk till you face the endless darkness in front and there you want to retreat back to where you thought you should have been. But isn't it too late then? Isn't there a night which is touch by the wand of sleep all over the place just after a joyous evening? So here you come back, to what you thought will welcome you with warmth and light, and you found instead....
"I saw no window but was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve."
I stumbled a little bit on Profanation, whose dictionary meaning tells me that it is a blasphemous behavior! So here you feel that it was a profanation to disturb the quiet slumber of the path which you left ignorant and now at this late hours of night, you can view yourself in the middle of nowhere, alone in a snowy winter evening regretting why you moved on so much that you can never come back to the same.
Such a picturesque poetry! It reflects so much of nature and philosophy in mind, but at the same time the classic Frostian finishing leaves the thoughts sailing in the beauty of pensive emotions. I adore Frost for how I can relate to him, and how he loves and depicts nature, both inward and outward, in the very exact way I want to, and how this stimulates the romantic poet in myself. I see a melancholic whisper in the most of his works. As long as I can respond to the whisper, I will call myself a poet.
I am a first time reader of Emily Dickinson. She is nice, very poetic and flowing. But I need to read more of her before I write about her. This blog is dedicated to the ever-young American nature lover, Robert Frost.
I reclined on a cold metal railing in the chilly evening as I read -
"I had for my winter evening walk -
No one at all with whom to talk"
Hmm.....there you go. Close your eyes and imagine, having a lonely winter evening walk - you can probably imagine a lonely path with serene darkness of lackluster light, and probably you can feel the chill in the air tickling your nose and ears. I could faintly hear the murmur of dry leaves as you step on them and then continue reading....
"But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow"
Aaahhh.....there you can see the snow accumulated on the window niches and ledges, glittering from the reflection of light inside the row of small rural cottages.
"And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces."
So this is a warm nice place, probably after the supper by the fireplace. There is light, there is music and there is glimpse of the household catching your eyesight and you probably feel the comfort. You see the picture so neat. You see the joy and warmth of youth which you can bask in if you go inside. But.....
"I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back"
You are the eternal human mind. You don't see the bliss lying by the road you cross until you cross it. So you chase behind your dream as the hope gives you company till you see those cottages. The company of your love, the company of your lover or the company of your ambitions. Till the time you see lights around, you expect more and you walk till you face the endless darkness in front and there you want to retreat back to where you thought you should have been. But isn't it too late then? Isn't there a night which is touch by the wand of sleep all over the place just after a joyous evening? So here you come back, to what you thought will welcome you with warmth and light, and you found instead....
"I saw no window but was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve."
I stumbled a little bit on Profanation, whose dictionary meaning tells me that it is a blasphemous behavior! So here you feel that it was a profanation to disturb the quiet slumber of the path which you left ignorant and now at this late hours of night, you can view yourself in the middle of nowhere, alone in a snowy winter evening regretting why you moved on so much that you can never come back to the same.
Such a picturesque poetry! It reflects so much of nature and philosophy in mind, but at the same time the classic Frostian finishing leaves the thoughts sailing in the beauty of pensive emotions. I adore Frost for how I can relate to him, and how he loves and depicts nature, both inward and outward, in the very exact way I want to, and how this stimulates the romantic poet in myself. I see a melancholic whisper in the most of his works. As long as I can respond to the whisper, I will call myself a poet.
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