Book Club
Whilst not necessarily just books, I plan to use this page to explore various items of literacy which have ventured past my eye. I hope to look at some of them in more detail, and think about the questions there are behind the works.
The first work I shall consider is this one:-
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening- 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.
There are numerous things about this poem which make it one of my favourites. There are so many questions it raises, here are the ones which spring out at me:
Who owns the woods, and should s/he mind that the writer has stopped by them? Should they care?
What has caused them to stop? Is it just as simple as looking at the beautiful woods, or is it something more? Is it for rest? If so, is it the horse who needs the rest, or the rider/author?
What are the promises? Who has the writer made them to? Himself, or someone else? Are they something the writer wants to carry out, or are they something he ‘has’ to carry out? Which is better?
Are the miles metaphorical ones? Is it an extended metaphor for life itself? If so does this reflect the writers mental state? (There is a hint of death hanging over such a tranquil scene, and the repetition of the last line only serves to reinforce this I feel.)
Why are the woods empty? And is it a good thing that they are being ‘filled’? If ‘emptiness’ is a bad thing, is filling it with something which indicates winter (and by definition- death) a good thing?
Does the writing style mimic the falling snow?
Is the ’speaker’ envious of the owner of the woods? For owning the woods in the first place? For being at home in the village on such a night? Alternatively, is the author critical of the owner for missing out on such a scene?
Should the penultimate line be read in a different tone to the last line? Should there be different emphasis on different words?
I remember this as one of the few poems we did in school that I actually liked,(apart from Simon Armitage-they were grim in a kind of good way) if I explain why, I’ll sound pretentious!
I think you should turn this into a real bookclub. At our inaugaral meeting we can discuss Russel Brand’s Booky Wook
Sorry, I will not be lured into studying comics or any other such rubbish…
How do you know it’s rubbish, you haven’t read it
I also make a point of not reading autobiographies of people under roughly 40. I would rather they actually did something productive with their lives, for the entireity of their lives and then write about it when they have retired. Rather than Mr Brand, who, as far as I’m aware, was a hopelessly lost drug addict, got clean, told a few (largely unfunny) jokes, pranced around a stage with a quite frankly odd haircut, and then, because he wasn’t making enough money from the imbeciles who employ him, decided to release a book telling everyone how hard his life has been up to this point. Great. Sorry, but I’m still in no rush to read it.