May 17, 2005, 6:34 PM
"Stopping by Woods on a Snowing Evening" by Robert Frost (as interpreted by Joseph K*** in Mrs. Ryan's sixth-period English class).
Art is what we make of it. Here is what I make of the classic Robert Frost poem. I will not break character at any point, not during this exercise on the Xanga, and not in English class tomorrow when I hand this in.
From the very first, Frost makes it clear that "woods" is a metaphor for his (or, the narrator's) body. This is from the perspective of an unreliable narrator—he is under the influence of crack. "Whose woods are these" is proof of this. He doesn't even recognize his own body, so high is his elation in the moment. "He will not see me here"—I take the "he" in this line to be referring to the police or some other type of authority figure. The narrator is feeling on top of the world, like no one can catch him. He can outfox anyone. And of course, "woods fill up with snow" should go without saying at this point. His body is filling up with crack.
Now here's where it gets tricky. We're switching metaphors here. "Woods" turns into "my little horse." My feeble little body, under the influence of crack. He's coming down from his high. His vision is blurring, thus creating the sensation of "darkness." He doesn't even know if he's going to make it back from this drug-induced trip. (I also don't think it's a coincidence that another hardcore drug of choice, heroin, sometimes goes by the street name "horse." We must examine all angles here, even the historical ones!!!)
"He" is still the horse, and thus, the narrator's body. It's starting to shake, either because the crack is draining his body and he is losing his energy or he is consciously attempting to shake loose the demons that have enveloped him or it's really cold and in his drug-induced stupor he forgot a jacket, or all three. Either way, "downy flake"? Seems like his nose is dripping a little bit. That happens after you snort! It numbs the nasal cavity! So if that's the case, then we can assume that "easy wind" is the constant sniffling. Seems pretty clear to me that Robert Frost is intimately familiar with these sensations.
Here, we have the tension between what the narrator wishes for himself and what he acknowledges the reality of the situation to be. Optimism vs. pessimism. Short-term gain vs. long-term loss. "The woods are lovely"—it sure does feel lovely in the moment, but the road ahead (the comedowns, the relapses, the cravings) can be pretty overwhelming ("and miles to go before I sleep"). I love how the words "lovely" and "dark" and "deep" are all laid next to each other, and each word could be interpreted either way. "Deep," for example, could be good, like "that's deep, man," or bad, like "in too deep." Maybe this reflects how the narrator is feeling in the moment—good and bad, and mostly conflicted. We are left without resolution.
What I like about poetry is that is doesn't always have to have one specific meaning. Sure, the author intended for it to mean one thing, but the audience is totally justified in using the poem for their own purposes, or to address their own needs. When we feel a connection to a poem, that tells us more about ourselves than it does the author and their intentions.
I should note here that I have never done crack. That's not what I'm trying to say here, in terms of forging a connection to "Stopping by Woods on a Snowing Evening." But I can relate, in a way. I know what it means to be a slave to something, to an ideal that I don't even necessarily agree with or abide by. I feel that shit every day. I read this poem and I can feel myself in those woods. I can feel the perverse warmth of relief from the cold. I feel that moment of reflection, even now, while it remains in the hypothetical and I continue to type away at the keyboard.
Knowing Mrs. Ryan, she'll think I'm just fucking around when I hand this in. Why wouldn't she? I've done nothing but fuck around in that class all year. But this is where I take a stand and say: No, I'm deadly serious. I am exercising my write to analyze poetry however I see fit. And I am interpreting this poem in a way that sure does make it seem like Robert Frost was a crackhead.
Art is what we make of it. Here is what I make of the classic Robert Frost poem. I will not break character at any point, not during this exercise on the Xanga, and not in English class tomorrow when I hand this in.
"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me here
To watch his woods fill up with snow."
From the very first, Frost makes it clear that "woods" is a metaphor for his (or, the narrator's) body. This is from the perspective of an unreliable narrator—he is under the influence of crack. "Whose woods are these" is proof of this. He doesn't even recognize his own body, so high is his elation in the moment. "He will not see me here"—I take the "he" in this line to be referring to the police or some other type of authority figure. The narrator is feeling on top of the world, like no one can catch him. He can outfox anyone. And of course, "woods fill up with snow" should go without saying at this point. His body is filling up with crack.
"My little horse must think it queer
To stop without his farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year."
Now here's where it gets tricky. We're switching metaphors here. "Woods" turns into "my little horse." My feeble little body, under the influence of crack. He's coming down from his high. His vision is blurring, thus creating the sensation of "darkness." He doesn't even know if he's going to make it back from this drug-induced trip. (I also don't think it's a coincidence that another hardcore drug of choice, heroin, sometimes goes by the street name "horse." We must examine all angles here, even the historical ones!!!)
"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."
"He" is still the horse, and thus, the narrator's body. It's starting to shake, either because the crack is draining his body and he is losing his energy or he is consciously attempting to shake loose the demons that have enveloped him or it's really cold and in his drug-induced stupor he forgot a jacket, or all three. Either way, "downy flake"? Seems like his nose is dripping a little bit. That happens after you snort! It numbs the nasal cavity! So if that's the case, then we can assume that "easy wind" is the constant sniffling. Seems pretty clear to me that Robert Frost is intimately familiar with these sensations.
"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."
Here, we have the tension between what the narrator wishes for himself and what he acknowledges the reality of the situation to be. Optimism vs. pessimism. Short-term gain vs. long-term loss. "The woods are lovely"—it sure does feel lovely in the moment, but the road ahead (the comedowns, the relapses, the cravings) can be pretty overwhelming ("and miles to go before I sleep"). I love how the words "lovely" and "dark" and "deep" are all laid next to each other, and each word could be interpreted either way. "Deep," for example, could be good, like "that's deep, man," or bad, like "in too deep." Maybe this reflects how the narrator is feeling in the moment—good and bad, and mostly conflicted. We are left without resolution.
What I like about poetry is that is doesn't always have to have one specific meaning. Sure, the author intended for it to mean one thing, but the audience is totally justified in using the poem for their own purposes, or to address their own needs. When we feel a connection to a poem, that tells us more about ourselves than it does the author and their intentions.
I should note here that I have never done crack. That's not what I'm trying to say here, in terms of forging a connection to "Stopping by Woods on a Snowing Evening." But I can relate, in a way. I know what it means to be a slave to something, to an ideal that I don't even necessarily agree with or abide by. I feel that shit every day. I read this poem and I can feel myself in those woods. I can feel the perverse warmth of relief from the cold. I feel that moment of reflection, even now, while it remains in the hypothetical and I continue to type away at the keyboard.
Knowing Mrs. Ryan, she'll think I'm just fucking around when I hand this in. Why wouldn't she? I've done nothing but fuck around in that class all year. But this is where I take a stand and say: No, I'm deadly serious. I am exercising my write to analyze poetry however I see fit. And I am interpreting this poem in a way that sure does make it seem like Robert Frost was a crackhead.
~~~~~~~~~~
Comments
TOTONKA: crack was invented in the late 1970's, after Robert Frost was dead.
Cocaine on the other hand was made in the late 1800's.
the poem is actually about some guy who sees something worthwhile and appreciates it. The horse, in my opinion, is the guy's conscience telling him he has crap that he has to get done. he knows this and doesnt want to get sidetracked to long, but wants to be able to enjoy life, in this case, watching snow in the woods
lacol_elohssa: In my eyes, I saw a suicidal man who realized that he couldn't kill himself because he still had too much he had to complete before he could die... the first "And miles to go before I sleep" would be a drudging thing... him realizing that he HAD to do things... and the second time that line is said, it his him expressing a newfound conviction to live life to the fullest, and thus the poem ends on a positive note.Who wants to write my Mr. Nick essay for me?
Anonymous: I once knew a man, named Joe K***
He said he sold propane
He couldn’t take it anymore, so he did cocaine
And ate nothing but chicken lo main
Anonymous: Everyone can have their own interpretation of poetry; I wonder how your teacher will take that. Entertaining.
Cocaine on the other hand was made in the late 1800's.
the poem is actually about some guy who sees something worthwhile and appreciates it. The horse, in my opinion, is the guy's conscience telling him he has crap that he has to get done. he knows this and doesnt want to get sidetracked to long, but wants to be able to enjoy life, in this case, watching snow in the woods
lacol_elohssa: In my eyes, I saw a suicidal man who realized that he couldn't kill himself because he still had too much he had to complete before he could die... the first "And miles to go before I sleep" would be a drudging thing... him realizing that he HAD to do things... and the second time that line is said, it his him expressing a newfound conviction to live life to the fullest, and thus the poem ends on a positive note.Who wants to write my Mr. Nick essay for me?
Anonymous: I once knew a man, named Joe K***
He said he sold propane
He couldn’t take it anymore, so he did cocaine
And ate nothing but chicken lo main
Anonymous: Everyone can have their own interpretation of poetry; I wonder how your teacher will take that. Entertaining.
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