So we come to the final post before it's shipped off through the fast highway that is the internet and slips neatly onto the doorstep of Michael/Kate's email address. I've decided that seeing as this is my last post, I'd put some extra effort into it and try to analyse critically the texts that we were given. Usually by this point I'd have cracked some joke, witty quip, or humorous anecdote, but I'm trying to restrain myself. I know, I don't think it'll last long either. Anyway, back to the matter at hand; the texts we were given. I'll be focusing on the poetry mainly, as it is something I find much easier to delve into, without getting thoroughly confused and ending up as a huddled mass on my floor, a confused look on my face. I'll be looking at two pieces, one by Willian Wordsworth and one by Robert Frost.
I shall start with William Wordsworth's piece, The World Is Too Much with Us
. First, I'd like to see the man behind the lines:
Might I add, he has possibly the finest surname for
someone in his field of work.
In this poem, Wordsworth talks about how we do not often see nature in all it's glory, that in a way it is wasted to the majority of the world. He talks about "Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours"
, through this we are able to tell how Wordsworth feels about consumerism in our lives, and how we neglect the beauty and splendour that is the natural world. He even goes as far as to spell "Nature"
with a capital 'N', showing it's significance and making it stand out on the page.
Over and over again we see in this poem the theme of the sea, as it comes up thrice - he mentions the Sea as a force that was once strong, yet subtle and soft, he uses two Gods of Greek Mythology (Proteus and Triton) which are both connected to the sea in some way. He once again uses the Sea as a way to represent Nature; it's fully bodied, proud and prominant in our lives, yet we spare it not a second glance. He waxes lyrical of how he wishes to glimpse the Gods of the sea in all their glory, to be connected to Nature once more.
Now, let's take a look at Mr. Frost:
He looks like one of the students out of Dead Poet's Society
I can say without a doubt, that I wasn't expecting him to look like that. Not at all. He looks like a composed young gent whose ready for a night out on the town with his lady friend, off to see the new crazy music of Tony Bennett. I was expecting the gruff, age-worn face of a man whose lived so long he knows the names of the rocks. Either way, this doesn't take anything away from the fact that I loved his poem. To me it is simplistic beauty. It tells a story that could go on for a century in just a few stanzas, about the simplest thing. He comes to the woods, his bewildered horse by his side, and waits as the snow falls around him, taking in the beauty of it's glistening light.
Frost describes everything perfectly within simple lines, from the frost covered woods, to the shaking bell of the curious horse "He gives his harness bell a shake To ask if there is some mistake."
I can saw without a doubt that this has to be one of my favourite poems. The obscure rhyming scheme, of the third line predicting the following stanza's rhyming pattern. The words have the exact right amount of syllables to make every line flow off the tongue in a calm sigh. It is once again a poem of taking in the beauty of life, the things that we see everyday (well, not snow for us) and are able to wave off without a second glance.
Nothing says nostalgia like sweet, sweet imagery.
And so that is my analysis of these two poems. I'll admit, not as detailed as they could have been, but I believe I was still able to convey the importance of both. I'd like to take this paragraph to say how much I agree with these two poets. If you were to look back on my entry on Thoreau, you will see that I've always been a big fan of the importance of nature. Now, I'm not saying we destroy our material/technological goods, but I think it would be an idea for us to take in nature in all it's crisp, fresh glory. Just the slicing blades of green grass, or the breeze against our faces as we stroll through the country side. Alright, I'm getting nostalgic, stop it Nick you're getting carried away.
And so I leave you with a poem, I had written not so long ago, and one of my favourites to date. It reminds me of things lost and things found.A Lost Trail
There was a time in which I stood
Against a snow-covered pile of wood.
I traced my fingers against cold stone,
Once a fence now overthrown.
I pushed my foot against the snow
And wondered how far my feet would go.
A woolen scalf bound my face
To protect against the wind in race.
A pointed dog sniffed my shoe
He nudged my foot, one, then two.
He barked and beckoned me to come,
Then jumped off to an excited run.
I ran with him all down the street,
Until he stopped and we did meet.
When I stopped my eyes did roam,
He'd brought me back, he'd brought me home.