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His books include The Fading Smile: Poets in Boston, 1955-1960 (1994) and The Poems of Peter Davison 1957-1995.Donald Hall's most recent collection of poems is Without (1998).
I like a coincidence almost as well as an incongruity. It signals the crystallizing of Robert Frost's talent at Plymouth, his determination to "set forth for somewhere," his hesitant welcoming of the true bond between speaker and hearer.
The voice in which his poems would take place would alter shortly: it would be the voice more of the farmer than of the teacher, "the sound of speech." And the poem he wrote next, in the same month he wrote this letter, was "The Wood-Pile," the first-written poem and cornerstone of the collection he would entitle North of Boston when it was published in London in 1914.
He thought that I was after him for a feather -- The white one in his tail; like one who takes Everything said as personal to himself. And then there was a pile of wood for which I forgot him and let his little fear Carry him off the way I might have gone, Without so much as wishing him good-night. It was a cord of maple, cut and split And piled -- and measured, four by four by eight. No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year's cutting, Or even last year's or the year's before.
In New Jersey they spoke about his work and of his plans, as yet unannounced, for the future.
Essay On The Woodpile By Robert Frost Dissertation Prospectus Sample
After his return to Plymouth, Frost wrote to Ward as follows: Two lonely crossroads that themselves cross each other I have walked several times this winter without meeting or overtaking so much as a single person on foot or on runners.
From the archives: "Robert Frost in The Atlantic Monthly," by Peter Davison (Atlantic Unbound, April 1996) Here are Frost's first three poems to appear in The Atlantic -- "Birches," "The Road Not Taken," and "The Sound of Trees" -- and one that got away, with readings by Peter Davison recorded specially for Atlantic Unbound.
"A New American Poet," by Edward Garnett (The Atlantic, August 1915) This essay on Robert Frost by a noted English editor and critic accompanied the first group of Frost's poems to appear in The Atlantic Monthly.
What held it though on one side was a tree Still growing, and on one a stake and prop, These latter about to fall.
I thought that only Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks Could so forget his handiwork on which He spent himself, the labor of his ax, And leave it there far from a useful fireplace To warm the frozen swamp as best it could With the slow smokeless burning of decay.