Muchas gracias por tu invitación... Perdona que te haya tardado en
contestar, porque lo he estado pensando, y al final he decidido no
aceptar, rogándote que no lo tomes a mal. Lo he consultado con la
almohada, porque la oferta es tentadora para la pequeña vanidad
profesional, y además sabes lo que aprecio tu trabajo y me gusta
colaborar contigo. Pero en fin, por ser sincero, tenía planes de
trabajar un poquito menos (a bit of downshifting) y hacer mejor el
trabajo que ya tengo entre manos, que puede no parecer mucho y sin
embargo no consigo hacerlo con la dedicación que merecería; tampoco me
gustaría que me sucediese eso contigo... ¡aunque no vayas a interpretar
que me has estado enviando demasiado trabajo en el pasado! – es sólo
que de muchos granitos de arena se acaba haciendo una montaña, y ahora
mismo ya tengo entre manos más de lo que puedo hacer bien, no a la
vista de un plan de trabajo sino viendo lo poco que en realidad consigo
hacer de hecho. Así pues, créeme que me da un poco de rabia y hasta me
considero un poco tonto diciendo que no, pero lo he meditado bien, que
para eso me he tomado unos días, y lo que me da mucho apuro es tenerte
que decir que no, por lo amable y considerado que has sido siempre
conmigo. Y quién sabe, quizá en el futuro volvamos a trabajar juntos.
Hasta entonces, gracias de verdad, y un abrazo.
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.
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.
From the Oxford Companion to American Literature, by Hart and Leininger:
Robert
[Lee] Frost (1874-1963), member of a New England family, was born in
San Francisco and taken at the age of ten to the New England farm
country with which his poetry is identified. After a brief attendance
at Dartmouth, where he disliked the academic attitude, he became a
bobbin boy in a Massachusetts mill, and a short period at Harvard was
followed by further work, making shoes, editing a country newspaper,
teaching school, and finally farming. This background of craftsmanship
and husbandry had its effect upon his poetry in more than the choice of
subjects, for he demanded that his verse be as simple and honest as an
axe or hoe. After a long period of farming, he moved to England
(1912-15) where he published his first book of poems, A Boy's Will
(1913), whose lyrics, including "Into My Own," "Revelation," "Mowing,"
and "Reluctance," are marked by an intense but restrained emotion and
the characteristic flavor of New England life. He returned to the U.S.
to settle on a New Hampshire farm, having achieved a reputation as an
important American poet through the publication of North of Boston
(1914), described by the author as "a book of people." and showing
brilliant insight into New England character and the background that
formed it. Among the poems in this volume are "Mending Wall," "The
Death of the Hired Man," "The Code," "The Wood-Pile," "Home Burial,"
and "A Servant to Servants."
—"Mending
Wall," blank-verse poem by Robert Frost, published in North of Boston
(1914). Describing the time he and a neighboring farmer spent the day
in replacing fallen stones on the wall which divides their land, the
poet declares, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall." and
expresses his philosophy of tolerance, generosity, and brotherhood in
the contrast between his neighbor's dogmatic "Good fences make good
neighbours" and his own more considered
Before
I built a wall I'd ask to know What
I was walling in or walling out
—"The
Death of the Hired Man," blank-verse dramatic narrative by Robert
Frost, published in North of Boston
(1914). Warren
and Mary, a farmer and his wife, discuss the return of Silas, an aged
farmhand who has worked for them often in the past, always wandering
off when other employment offered itself, and coming "home" at tims of
difficulty. Warren wants to dismiss him, but Mary describes the
poignant contrast between his former proud competence and his present
broken helath, loneliness, and pitiful eagerness to serve. She tells of
his infirm mind, which she thinks a sign of approaching death, and her
husband is moved to reconsider. Whan he enters the house to talk with
Silas, he discovers the old man dead.
—"The Code," blank-verse dramatic narrative by Robert Frost, published
in North of Boston (1914). An
experienced farmhand tells a "town-bred farmer" of the pride his
fellows take in their competence, and the resulting code:
The
hand that knows his business won't be told To
do work better or faster—those two things.
For
illustration he describes an incident that took place when he worked
for a certain Sanders, of Salem, a prodigious worker himself. They were
engaged in unloading a wagon of hay, and Sanders, made the mistake,
while standing below to pile th load, of saying to the hand on the
wagon, "Let her come!" Offended at this breach of the code, the hand
dumped the entire load down on the helpless farmer, regardless of the
danger of suffocating him. Sanders extricated himself, and showed that
he recognized the justice of his employee's act:
"Discharge
me? No! He knew I did just right."
—"The Wood-Pile." blank-verse poem by Robert Frost, published in North of Boston (1914). The
poet suggests a cosmic symbol in his discovery of a weathered,
long-abandoned cord of maple, "cut and split and piled," held from
being scattered by a growing tree on one side and on the other "a stake
and prop, these latter about to fall." This wasted labor can be the
work on ly of "someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks," and could
leave his creation "To warm the frozen swamp as best it could With the
slow smokeless burning of decay."
—"Home Burial," dramatic narrative in blank verse by Robert Frost,
published in North of Boston
(1914). The
incompatibility of a New England farm couple is revealed in the tragic
conflict between them following the death of their only child. The
husband has buried the child in the nearby family plot, and the wife
becomes obsessed by his seemingly unfeeling attitude. Oppressed by
loneliness, she comes to hate him and now feels that the transitoriness
of his grief is a further proof the "the world's evil." She is
determined tha she "must go—somewhere out of this house," but her
husband declares obstinately, "I'll follow and bring you back by force.
I will!—"
—"A Servant to Servants," blank-verse dramatic monologue by Robert
Frost, published in North of Boston
(1914). A
lonely, overworked New England farm wife talks with a visiting
naturalist, and through her eager conversation reveals the tragic story
of her life. Reared in a loveless family, in which her mother's life
had been embittered by the necessity of caring for an obscenely mad
brother-in-law, she herself had been influenced for a time by the
inherited strain of insanity, and welcomed the opportunity to marry
Len, the unfeeling husband who neglects her for his many business
enterprises. Though she craves personal freedom, love, and the touch of
beauty, she is burdened by innumerable menial tasks, including the
feeding of the brutal farmhands, whose "servant" she has become.
The same expressive idiom and brilliant observation appear in Mountain Interval (1916),
containing such characteristic poems as "The Road Not Taken,"
"Birches," "Bond and Free," "A Time to Talk,"
"Snow," "Putting in the Seed," and "An Old Man's Winter Night."
—"The
Road Not Taken," poem in iambic tetrameter by Rober Frost, published in
Mountain Interval (1916). The
poet tells how the course of his life was determined when he came
upon two roads that diverged in a wood. Forced to choose, he "took the
one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."
—"Birches,"
blank-verse lyric by Robert Frost, published in Mountain Interval
(1916). The poet describes his boyhood pleasure in climbing birch
trees, swinging from the tops until the supple trunks bent in a curve
to the ground. He dreams of being again "a swinger of birches," and
finds in this occupation a symbol for his desired surcease from
"considerations," in which he might
go by climbing a birch tree . . . Toward heaven, till the tree
could bear no more, But
dipped its top and set me down again, That
would be good both going and coming back.
The shrewd humor and Yankee understatement that distinguish such poems
as "The Cow in Apple Time," "A Hundred Collars," and "Brown's Descent"
are exhibited also in Frost's witty self-critical remarks, such as "I
might be called a Synecdochist; for I prefer the synecdoche in
poetry—that figure of speech in which we use a part for the whole." In
both emotion and language he was restrained, and conveyed his messages
by implication. Although his blank verse is colloquial, it is never
loose, for it possesses the pithy, surcharged economy indigenous to the
New Englander. His genre pieces, in the form of dramatic idylls or
monologues, capture the vernacular of his neighbors north of Boston.
Frost explained his realism saying, "There are two types of realist—the
one who offers a good deal of dirt with his potato to show that it is a
real one; and the one who is satisfied with the potato brushed clean. .
. . To me, the thing that art does for life is to clean it, to strip it
to form." His next book, New
Hampshire
(1923, Pulitzer Prize), shows his ability to deal with genial, informal
subjects, as in "The Star-Splitter," "Maple," "The Axe Helve," "New
Hampshire," and "Paul's Wife," and to concentrate emotional impact into
a few clean-stripped lines, as in "To Earthward," "Two Look at Two,"
"Stopping by Woods on as Snowy Evening," "Gathering Leaves," "Fire and
Ice," and "Fragmentary Blue."
—"The
Star-Splitter," blank-verse narrative by Robert Frost, published in New
Hampshire (1923). Brad
McLaughlin's "life-long curiosity About our place among the infinities"
culminates in his burning his house down for the insurance, to buy a
telescope. He earns a living as a railroad ticket agent and uses his
leisure "for star-gazing" through his glass, "the Star-splitter." Brad
and his friend, the poet, often spend their nights in his activity, but
though it provides material for "some of the best things we ever said,"
they remain in ignorance of the real nature of the universe: "We've
looked and looked, but after all where are we?"
—"Maple," narrative poem in blank verse by Robert Frost, published in New Hampshire (1923). Although
others commonly misunderstand it as "Mabel," Maple, the name of a New
England girl, given her at birth by her dying mother, guides her life
and endows her with a mysterious poetic quality. Her father is unable
or unwilling to make clear the intended meaning, and Maple is able to
find only partial clues, but the man she marries discerns her kinship
with the spirit of the trees, and they share this secret as a motive of
their love.
—"The Axe Helve," blank-verse dramatic narrative by Robert Frost,
published in New Hampshire
(1923). The
poet, chopping wood, is interrupted by a neighboring farmer, the
Frenchman Baptiste, who objects to his using an inferior machine-made
axe-helve. He promises him a good hickory helve of his own cutting, and
that evening the poet visits Baptiste's home, meeting his sociable
wife, who speaks no English. He talks with the earnest workman, who
proves to be a conscientiouss laborer who knows "how to make a short
job long for love of it," and insists that his children shall not
attend school, asserting the superiority of his own proud independence
and appreciation of such essential things as the materials of a
properly durable axe-helve.
—"New Hampshire," blank-verse poem by Robert Frost, published in 1923
as the title piece of a volume which won a Pulitzer prize. In
this familiar monologue, the poet presents a witty defense of his
manner of life and philosophic attitude. He describes New Hampshire as
"one of the two best states in the Union. Vermont's the other," and as
a compact community ahving "one each of everything as in a show-case."
Answering the "glorious bards of Massachusetts" who "taunt the lofty
land with little men," he names friends among the New Hampshire people
he admires and would not change. "I choose to be a plain New Hampshire
farmer," he says, in condemning extremists who demand that he take a
radical attitude.
—"Two Look at Two," blank-verse poem by Robert Frost, published in New Hampshire (1923). A
pair of lovers climb a wooded mountain, and at the approach of night
prepare to turn back but are halted on seeing a doe staring at them
across a fence. The spell broken when she calmly walks off, they are
about to go on again, but are stopped a second time by the appearance
in the same place of "an antlered buck of lusty nostril" who "viewed
them quizzically with jerks of head." After a moment he too disappears,
but the lovers stand spellbound,
As
if the earth in one unlooked-for favor Had
made them certain earth returned their love.
In 1928 he issued a fifth new volume, West-Running Brook, with the same
warm lyric quality that had characterized his first book. His Collected Poems
(1930, Pulitzer Prize) assembled in one volume the work that has a
lifelong continuity in its rhythms, its clear focusing on the
individual, and its observation of the native New England background.
After collecting his poems, although he held positions as an affiliated
teacher at Amherst, Harvard, and Michigan, he continued his literary
career and in 1936 publishedA
Further Range(Pulitzer Prize), whose lyrics, though more playful in blending fact
and
fantasy, have beneath their frivolity a deep seriousness. A new edition
of Collected Poems (1939) was
followed by A Witness Tree
(1942, Pulitzer Prize); two blank-verse plays, A Masque of Reason (1946), about
Job, and A Masque of Mercy
(1947), in which Biblical characters in modern setting discuss ethics
and man's relation to God; and Steeple
Bush (1947) and In the
Clearing (1962), later lyrics. The standard collected edition is
The Poetry of Robert Frost
(1969), edited by Edward C. Lathem. His correspondence appears in Letters to Louis Untermeyer (1963)
and Selected Letters (1964),
edited by Lawrance Thompson. Thompson published a controversial full
biography—as official biographer—Robert
Frost (3 vols., 1966-77), giving a harsh view of the poet. A
less tendentious treatment is by William H. Pritchard, Frost: A Literary Life Reconsidered
(1984).
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.