'Generations of Men, The' by Robert Lee Frost
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A governor it was proclaimed this time,
When all who would come seeking in New Hampshire
Ancestral memories might come together.
And those of the name Stark gathered in Bow,
A rock-strewn town where farming has fallen off,
And sprout-lands flourish where the axe has gone.
Someone had literally run to earth
In an old cellar hole in a by-road
The origin of all the family there.
Thence they were sprung, so numerous a tribe
That now not all the houses left in town
Made shift to shelter them without the help
Of here and there a tent in grove and orchard.
They were at Bow, but that was not enough:
Nothing would do but they must fix a day
To stand together on the crater's verge
That turned them on the world, and try to fathom
The past and get some strangeness out of it.
But rain spoiled all. The day began uncertain,
With clouds low trailing and moments of rain that misted.
The young folk held some hope out to each other
Till well toward noon when the storm settled down
With a swish in the grass. "What if the others
Are there," they said. "It isn't going to rain."
Only one from a farm not far away
Strolled thither, not expecting he would find
Anyone else, but out of idleness.
One, and one other, yes, for there were two.
The second round the curving hillside road
Was a girl; and she halted some way off
To reconnoitre, and then made up her mind
At least to pass by and see who he was,
And perhaps hear some word about the weather.
This was some Stark she didn't know. He nodded.
"No fête to-day," he said.
"It looks that way."
She swept the heavens, turning on her heel.
"I only idled down."
"I idled down."
Provision there had been for just such meeting
Of stranger cousins, in a family tree
Drawn on a sort of passport with the branch
Of the one bearing it done in detail--
Some zealous one's laborious device.
She made a sudden movement toward her bodice,
As one who clasps her heart. They laughed together.
"Stark?" he inquired. "No matter for the proof."
"Yes, Stark. And you?"
"I'm Stark." He drew his passport.
"You know we might not be and still be cousins:
The town is full of Chases, Lowes, and Baileys,
All claiming some priority in Starkness.
My mother was a Lane, yet might have married
Anyone upon earth and still her children
Would have been Starks, and doubtless here to-day."
"You riddle with your genealogy
Like a Viola. I don't follow you."
"I only mean my mother was a Stark
Several times over, and by marrying father
No more than brought us back into the name."
"One ought not to be thrown into confusion
By a plain statement of relationship,
But I own what you say makes my head spin.
You take my card--you seem so good at such things--
And see if you can reckon our cousinship.
Why not take seats here on the cellar wall
And dangle feet among the raspberry vines?"
"Under the shelter of the family tree."
"Just so--that ought to be enough protection."
"Not from the rain. I think it's going to rain."
"It's raining."
"No, it's misting; let's be fair.
Does the rain seem to you to cool the eyes?"
The situation was like this: the road
Bowed outward on the mountain half-way up,
And disappeared and ended not far off.
No one went home that way. The only house
Beyond where they were was a shattered seedpod.
And below roared a brook hidden in trees,
The sound of which was silence for the place.
This he sat listening to till she gave judgment.
"On father's side, it seems, we're--let me see----"
"Don't be too technical.--You have three cards."
"Four cards, one yours, three mine, one for each branch
Of the Stark family I'm a member of."
"D'you know a person so related to herself
Is supposed to be mad."
"I may be mad."
"You look so, sitting out here in the rain
Studying genealogy with me
You never saw before. What will we come to
With all this pride of ancestry, we Yankees?
I think we're all mad. Tell me why we're here
Drawn into town about this cellar hole
Like wild geese on a lake before a storm?
What do we see in such a hole, I wonder."
"The Indians had a myth of Chicamoztoc,
Which means The Seven Caves that We Came out of.
This is the pit from which we Starks were digged."
"You must be learned. That's what you see in it?"
"And what do you see?"
"Yes, what do I see?
First let me look. I see raspberry vines----"
"Oh, if you're going to use your eyes, just hear
What I see. It's a little, little boy,
As pale and dim as a match flame in the sun;
He's groping in the cellar after jam,
He thinks it's dark and it's flooded with daylight."
"He's nothing. Listen. When I lean like this
I can make out old Grandsir Stark distinctly,--
With his pipe in his mouth and his brown jug--
Bless you, it isn't Grandsir Stark, it's Granny,
But the pipe's there and smoking and the jug.
She's after cider, the old girl, she's thirsty;
Here's hoping she gets her drink and gets out safely."
"Tell me about her. Does she look like me?"
"She should, shouldn't she, you're so many times
Over descended from her. I believe
She does look like you. Stay the way you are.
The nose is just the same, and so's the chin--
Making allowance, making due allowance."
"You poor, dear, great, great, great, great Granny!"
"See that you get her greatness right. Don't stint her."
"Yes, it's important, though you think it isn't.
I won't be teased. But see how wet I am."
"Yes, you must go; we can't stay here for ever.
But wait until I give you a hand up.
A bead of silver water more or less
Strung on your hair won't hurt your summer looks.
I wanted to try something with the noise
That the brook raises in the empty valley.
We have seen visions--now consult the voices.
Something I must have learned riding in trains
When I was young. I used the roar
To set the voices speaking out of it,
Speaking or singing, and the band-music playing.
Perhaps you have the art of what I mean.
I've never listened in among the sounds
That a brook makes in such a wild descent.
It ought to give a purer oracle."
"It's as you throw a picture on a screen:
The meaning of it all is out of you;
The voices give you what you wish to hear."
"Strangely, it's anything they wish to give."
"Then I don't know. It must be strange enough.
I wonder if it's not your make-believe.
What do you think you're like to hear to-day?"
"From the sense of our having been together--
But why take time for what I'm like to hear?
I'll tell you what the voices really say.
You will do very well right where you are
A little longer. I mustn't feel too hurried,
Or I can't give myself to hear the voices."
"Is this some trance you are withdrawing into?"
"You must be very still; you mustn't talk."
"I'll hardly breathe."
"The voices seem to say----"
"I'm waiting."
"Don't! The voices seem to say:
Call her Nausicaa, the unafraid
Of an acquaintance made adventurously."
"I let you say that--on consideration."
"I don't see very well how you can help it.
You want the truth. I speak but by the voices.
You see they know I haven't had your name,
Though what a name should matter between us----"
"I shall suspect----"
"Be good. The voices say:
Call her Nausicaa, and take a timber
That you shall find lies in the cellar charred
Among the raspberries, and hew and shape it
For a door-sill or other corner piece
In a new cottage on the ancient spot.
The life is not yet all gone out of it.
And come and make your summer dwelling here,
And perhaps she will come, still unafraid,
And sit before you in the open door
With flowers in her lap until they fade,
But not come in across the sacred sill----"
"I wonder where your oracle is tending.
You can see that there's something wrong with it,
Or it would speak in dialect. Whose voice
Does it purport to speak in? Not old Grandsir's
Nor Granny's, surely. Call up one of them.
They have best right to be heard in this place."
"You seem so partial to our great-grandmother
(Nine times removed. Correct me if I err.)
You will be likely to regard as sacred
Anything she may say. But let me warn you,
Folks in her day were given to plain speaking.
You think you'd best tempt her at such a time?"
"It rests with us always to cut her off."
"Well then, it's Granny speaking: 'I dunnow!
Mebbe I'm wrong to take it as I do.
There ain't no names quite like the old ones though,
Nor never will be to my way of thinking.
One mustn't bear too hard on the new comers,
But there's a dite too many of them for comfort.
I should feel easier if I could see
More of the salt wherewith they're to be salted.
Son, you do as you're told! You take the timber--
It's as sound as the day when it was cut--
And begin over----' There, she'd better stop.
You can see what is troubling Granny, though.
But don't you think we sometimes make too much
Of the old stock? What counts is the ideals,
And those will bear some keeping still about."
"I can see we are going to be good friends."
"I like your 'going to be.' You said just now
It's going to rain."
"I know, and it was raining.
I let you say all that. But I must go now."
"You let me say it? on consideration?
How shall we say good-bye in such a case?"
"How shall we?"
"Will you leave the way to me?"
"No, I don't trust your eyes. You've said enough.
Now give me your hand up.--Pick me that flower."
"Where shall we meet again?"
"Nowhere but here
Once more before we meet elsewhere."
"In rain?"
"It ought to be in rain. Sometime in rain.
In rain to-morrow, shall we, if it rains?
But if we must, in sunshine." So she went.
Editor 1 Interpretation
Poetry, Generations of Men by Robert Frost: A Critical Analysis
As one of the greatest poets of the 20th century, Robert Frost’s poetry has always been revered for its lucid and insightful portrayal of human life and nature. Among his many masterpieces, “Generations of Men” is a poem that stands out due to its profound meditation on the themes of time, mortality, and the cyclical nature of human existence. In this critical analysis, we will explore the various literary techniques and devices that Frost employs in this poem to evoke such powerful emotions and insights in his readers.
Overview of the Poem
“Generations of Men” is a poem consisting of 9 stanzas, each containing 4 lines. It was first published in the collection “A Boy’s Will” in 1913, which marked Frost’s debut as a published poet. The poem begins by evoking an image of a vast, empty landscape where “all the graves are full” and the only sound that can be heard is “the whispering of the bones.” The poem then goes on to describe the generations of men who have lived and died in this place, each leaving behind traces of their existence in the form of “the creatures that they loved, / Their birthplace and their names.” The poem ends by reflecting on the cyclical nature of life and death, and the fact that each generation is bound to repeat the same cycle of birth, life, and death.
Analysis of the Poem
Structure and Form
One of the defining features of “Generations of Men” is its simple and straightforward structure. The poem consists of 9 stanzas, each containing 4 lines, with a regular rhyme scheme of ABAB. This gives the poem a musical and rhythmic quality that is easy to read and remember. The poem is also written in iambic tetrameter, which means that each line contains 8 syllables with a pattern of unstressed/stressed syllables. This creates a sense of balance and symmetry in the poem, which is appropriate given its theme of cyclical time.
Imagery and Metaphor
In “Generations of Men,” Frost uses vivid imagery and metaphorical language to create a powerful and evocative portrait of human life and death. The poem begins by describing a vast, empty landscape where “all the graves are full.” This image creates a sense of finality and inevitability, as if death is an inescapable fact of life. The reference to “the whispering of the bones” adds to the eerie and haunting atmosphere of the poem, suggesting that even the dead are still present in some form.
The poem then goes on to describe the generations of men who have lived and died in this place, using powerful metaphors to convey the fleeting nature of human existence. For example, the lines “Some have warmth who have not fires, / And others have fires who have no warmth” suggest that some people have material wealth but lack emotional fulfillment, while others have emotional warmth but lack material wealth. This highlights the idea that happiness and fulfillment are not necessarily correlated with material success.
Another powerful metaphor used in the poem is the image of “the creatures that they loved.” This suggests that our relationships with the natural world are an integral part of our existence, and that even after we are gone, the creatures we loved and cared for will continue to exist. This creates a sense of continuity and connectedness between different generations of people and between humans and nature.
Tone and Mood
The tone and mood of “Generations of Men” is somber and reflective, with a sense of melancholy pervading the entire poem. Frost seems to be meditating on the fleeting nature of human existence, and the fact that each generation is bound to repeat the same cycle of birth, life, and death. The repeated references to “the whispering of the bones” and the empty landscape give the poem a sense of emptiness and desolation, while the final lines suggest a kind of resignation to the inevitability of death and the cycle of life.
Themes and Meanings
At its core, “Generations of Men” is a poem about the cyclical nature of time and the inevitability of death. Frost seems to be suggesting that no matter how much we try to escape the cycle of life and death, we are all bound to repeat it in some form. The poem also explores the idea that each generation leaves behind traces of its existence in the form of the creatures they loved, their birthplaces, and their names. This creates a sense of continuity and interconnectedness between different generations of people, and between humans and nature.
Another theme that emerges from the poem is the idea that happiness and fulfillment are not necessarily correlated with material success. The lines “Some have warmth who have not fires, / And others have fires who have no warmth” highlight the fact that emotional fulfillment and material success are two separate things, and that true happiness comes from within rather than from external sources.
Conclusion
Overall, “Generations of Men” is a powerful and evocative poem that explores some of the most fundamental themes of human existence. Frost’s use of vivid imagery, metaphorical language, and simple yet powerful structure creates a sense of timelessness and universality that makes this poem relevant to readers of all ages and backgrounds. As we read this poem, we are reminded of the fact that no matter how much we try to escape our mortality, we are all bound to repeat the same cycle of birth, life, and death. Yet, at the same time, the poem also reminds us that we are all connected in some way, and that our existence is shaped by the creatures we love, the places we come from, and the names we leave behind. In this sense, “Generations of Men” is a testament to the enduring power of human life and the natural world that surrounds us.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Robert Lee Frost is one of the most celebrated poets of the 20th century. His works have been studied and analyzed by scholars and enthusiasts alike, and his poetry continues to inspire and captivate readers to this day. One of his most famous poems, "Generations of Men," is a powerful and thought-provoking piece that explores the cyclical nature of life and the inevitability of death.
At its core, "Generations of Men" is a meditation on the passage of time and the way in which human beings are linked together through the generations. The poem begins with a description of a group of men working in a field, digging a trench. Frost writes, "We make ourselves a place apart / Behind light words that tease and flout, / But oh, the agitated heart / Till someone find us really out."
This opening stanza sets the tone for the rest of the poem, which is filled with a sense of unease and restlessness. The men in the field are working hard, but there is a sense that they are not entirely at ease with themselves or with each other. They are "a place apart," separated from the rest of the world by their work and their isolation.
As the poem progresses, Frost explores the idea of the passage of time and the way in which human beings are linked together through the generations. He writes, "Our life is like a land unknown, / Forest on the borders of a lake, / Misty, and strange, and full of change, / And the echoes of a soundless song."
This stanza is particularly powerful, as it captures the sense of mystery and uncertainty that surrounds human existence. Our lives are like a "land unknown," full of mystery and wonder, but also full of danger and uncertainty. We are surrounded by the unknown, and we are constantly struggling to make sense of our place in the world.
Frost goes on to explore the idea of death and the way in which it is an inevitable part of the human experience. He writes, "We are the generations they / Who sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong, / Ballads of exile, and who lay / Like living men, with funeral song."
This stanza is particularly poignant, as it captures the sense of loss and grief that is an inevitable part of the human experience. We are all linked together through the generations, and we all share in the experience of loss and grief. We are all connected by the fact that we will all eventually die, and this is something that we must all come to terms with.
Throughout the poem, Frost uses a variety of poetic techniques to create a sense of tension and unease. He uses repetition, alliteration, and imagery to create a sense of foreboding and uncertainty. For example, he writes, "We know that Heaven is a place / Where all the brave shall find a home, / But, ah, we must first make the case / That Heaven is a place to come."
This stanza is particularly powerful, as it captures the sense of uncertainty and doubt that surrounds the idea of heaven. We all hope that there is a better place waiting for us after we die, but we cannot be sure. We must first make the case for heaven, and this is something that requires faith and courage.
In conclusion, "Generations of Men" is a powerful and thought-provoking poem that explores the cyclical nature of life and the inevitability of death. Frost uses a variety of poetic techniques to create a sense of tension and unease, and he captures the sense of mystery and uncertainty that surrounds human existence. This is a poem that speaks to the human experience in a profound and meaningful way, and it is a testament to Frost's skill as a poet.
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