week two. post one. frost.

Before I go on to analyze the Frost poems, I think I should somewhat attempt to do the assignment I missed in class. Here is my poem on public transportation entitled "Closed Minded Walkers"

Us southern folk think God gave us two feet to walk,
and a mind to build a car with. I agree.
Don't be caught using public transport,
unless it's the CAT or something free.

But go to the north, hail a taxi or ride underground
Nobody judges if you don't have a car, that's what I've found.
Travel overseas and the mind is a lot less narrow--
try walking barefoot for miles or catch an overcrowded bus.

Public transport? Hey, I'm a fan.
It's better than riding in your mom's mini van!

anywho...

"Birches" by Robert Frost is considerably long compared to the other poems from last week. But when I recognize the shift in the poem; not only does it make it shorter, but easier to read. The poem starts with an optimistic thinker. Wanting to know how the birches got such bends in it, the man in the poem wishes it was just a little boy swinging on the birches, but then he says "But swinging doesn't bend them to stay. Ice storms do that" (lines 4-5). From then on, I know the man is a realist that has had some problems or storms in his life. It feels as if the man is personifying the birch as himself. As he grew up, he went through many different obstacles, but in the end there was his faith or "the sun's warmth" (line 10) to help him recover from the storm. And he was resilient because even though he was "dragged to the withered bracken by the load" (line 14), he did not "seem to break"(line 15). But as this man sits back and recounts his life, he sees that reality which is personified as "Truth" (line 21), and that is when the shift of the poem occurs. The man goes on to explain that when he was young he lived a carefree life. He loved that life so much that he would "like to get away from earth awhile and then come back to it and begin over"(line 48). I believe this poem was written from a transition stage, maybe like the one I am going through right now. I think I have seen enough of life through death and love to know its rough edges, but know that I have real responsibilities now that I can no longer be the "swinger of birches".

On a lighter note, I found "Mending Wall" quite ironic, because we have recently got a new neighbor in our historic district neighborhood. The first thing she does is put up a wall, dividing our yard. This was not to my mother's liking, because living in historic Greenville for sixteen years, they have always told her she could not put up a wall, only fences. The title of the poem is "Mending Wall", but the only words spoken between the neighbors during the spring when they go to fix the wall are "Good fences make good neighbors". I find that walls are to keep people away from everything, from your personal stuff to your emotions; while fences or boundaries, simply keep people away from your belongings. I love this poem, and my mother does too.