David Says:
I love prosidy; while I make no pretention that formal poetry is superior to free verse (it is not as I do love Kinnell, Jeffers, and Dove etc), I merely prefer to read formal works as I respect a poet who can develop a well written poem despite limitations of line, meter, or form. No matter how much I like the so called New Formalists: Phillis Levin, Julia Alvarez, Marilyn Hacker, and the satires of Charles Martin or R.S. Gwynn, I always find myself returning to Edward Arlington Robinson.
Robinson's "The Garden" is what currently speaks to me. I have found that I never really thought about the decisions I made as a youth, or how the choices I made shaped me into the person I am today. Good or bad, I find today I reflect much on the "Fruitage of a life that was my own" and how those choices have affected not only me, but the lives of all I have encountered.
The Garden
Edward Arlington Robinson
There is a fenceless garden overgrown
With buds and blossoms and all sorts of leaves;
And once, among the roses and the sheaves,
The Gardener and I were there alone.
He led me to the plot where I had thrown
The fennel of my days on wasted ground,
And in that riot of sad weeds I found
The fruitage of a life that was my own.
My life! Ah, yes, there was my life, indeed!
And there were all the lives of humankind;
And they were like a book that I could read,
Whose every leaf, miraculously signed,
Outrolled itself from Thought’s eternal seed.
Love-rooted in God’s garden of the mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please leave your name with your comment. Thank you!