Monday, June 24, 2013

None Should Mow the Grass There

The older I get, the more my soul resonates with poetry. I used to not have time for figuring it out. Now, I enjoy taking time to read it and contemplate what pictures the poet is painting with his words.

As I've said before, Robert Frost is my favorite poet. Maybe because he is the only poet that I've really read. (Besides Mother Goose. Does Mother Goose count?) Mr. Hippie bought me a book of Robert Frost's poetry for Mother's Day. It sits on my bedside, and every little while I haul it out and read a poem or two.

 It isn't just a book of poems, it is much more. The author, Tim Kendall, compiled poems, Robert Frost explanations of why he wrote each poem, and what each poem means. I think I may need an additional book to explain the explanations.

Nevertheless, the poetry feeds my soul when I am feeling dry and depleted. Somedays I feel like I have given and given, and I have no more to give. That is when I need to step back and receive. Recharge in order to give out again.

Poems aren't meant to be read once and you're done. Most poems require more than a quick perusal. Poems require thought and concentration in order to pick up the nuances and rhythm. Poems generally have the literal and obvious interpretations that should be pictured first. After you get that, then dig a little deeper for the ulterior meaning. How it applies to life.

 In honor of summer being full upon us, and the beauty and laziness it brings, here is a popular Frost poem written earlier in his career.

Rose Pogonia

A saturated meadow, 
Sun-shaped and jewel-small, 
A circle scarcely wider 
Than the trees around were tall; 
Where winds were quite excluded, 
And the air was stifling sweet 
With the breath of many flowers-- 
A temple of the heat. 

There we bowed us in the burning, 
As the sun's right worship is, 
To pick where none could miss them 
A thousand orchises; 
For though the grass was scattered, 
Yet ever second spear 
Seemed tipped with wings of color 
That tinged the atmosphere. 

We raised a simple prayer 
Before we left the spot, 
That in the general mowing 
That place might be forgot; 
Or if not all so favored, 
Obtain such grace of hours 
That none should mow the grass there 
While so confused with flowers.

-Robert Frost

What is your favorite summer poem?