Our American Poets

Yesterday the snow fell steadily all day. The wind swirled, the snow piled up and life came to a standstill. This morning we woke to a pristine world of white blankets under a dazzling blue dome. As I wandered to the park at the edge our neighborhood, I thought of the woods where Robert Frost stopped one snowy winter evening.

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

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.   

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.

Frost wrote “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” in 1922, and according to his notes, finished it in one sitting.

While we’re recalling American poets, I used part of Walt Whitman’s “I Hear America Singing” published in 1860 in my recent short story, Lila’s Song.

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,

The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

Lila loves the poem because it speaks directly to her, “the girl sewing or washing,” giving her a unique voice as part of the larger song that is America. I like to think of my ancestors portrayed in Marcello’s Promise bringing new voices to America’s song: the miner Marcello as “he makes ready for work”, the “delicious singing of the mother” Luisa as she sings a song of comfort to her children. There are times today when America’s song is discordant and out of tune. This is nothing new. I long for a better day and a more lovely song, “robust and friendly,” and while that may take years, I am forever hopeful. It’s been a long time since I taught in a classroom, but I hope poets like Frost and Whitman are still read and bring thoughtful reflection to readers.

Whether or not you are snowed in, I hope you have something wonderful to read in the coming days. If you haven’t read “Lila’s Song,” you can find it here: https://www.womenwritingthewest.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/2021-Lilas-Song-by-Jane-Perry.pdf and Marcello’s Promise is available in multiple formats under the “Books” tab on this website from Amazon. Thank you!