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Photo by Mark Stephenson |
So, a few years ago, around this time of year, we were in Vermont (details here if you want them). I was reminded of this yesterday, thumbing through a book of Robert Frost poems that I found lying, unloved, in one of the many piles of books that clutter this house. I studied Frost at school, have even written a poem that mentions him before (back here, now a little altered) but now I have a new one (below). Well, a draft anyway.
Just recently I have been reading (via daughter) the Jackie Kay poems that she is studying in school. I know some people probably manage to take in nothing from the poetry that they are exposed to at school but for others these poems can be life-changing, mind-enhancing. You may not realise this at the time of course!
Bennington, Vermont
(2011)
It is a crisp day,
Suitably Frostian.
A March Sunday,
New England,
History in the air.
In the graveyard
There are pointers
Only to your name.
Who else has that?
You’ve arrived, they say.
We walk on grass,
Visit a white church.
School poetry,
That old uncle,
Whispers in my ear.
RF 2016
2 comments:
Lovely - frosty and Frosty. My school poetry uncle was Sandburg :)
I don't think I know him at all. We also studied Larkin, Sassoon, Auden... and then T.S.Eliot at a higher level. They were all interesting but I'm glad the field has widened a bit now!
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