One of my favorite Robert Frost poems is, “Out, Out–”. It’s all about a young boy who bleeds to death after his hand is cut off by a buzz saw. The storyline itself is dark, but the poem is lightly written– featuring a good deal of onomatopoeia and personification. The poem flitters from line to line and ends on a chord that resonate with me to this day– 10 years after the first day I ever read it.
“And they, since they were not the ones dead, turned to their affairs.”
The inevitably of “moving on” is captured here in a way that Carl Sagan himself would admire.
I was especially invested in this poem because, before I had ever read it, I was told it was based on a true story. The son of Frost’s friend died from a buzz saw wound, and the local newspaper covered the stories in a few brief words.
“Nature is unsentimental.
Death is built in.”
- Carl Sagan
I thought of this poem again when I read a similarly short article. A local columnist lost her husband of 60 years and wrote 4 sentences in memorial. Though I don’t remember the exact words, I can’t shake the memory of the feel of them. It was pained, lonely, bitter nostalgia.
In response, and with apologies to the columnist that I wasn’t able to find for intruding on her pain– here’s my retelling of their story . . .
The Stanzas of Her Grief
I wrote the grandest fairy tale–
a story to behold!
There was a man, born to fail,
(or so the story’s told).
They fell in love (the sweetest jail,
though often very cold.)
Tis a story of betrayal!
How? He died of old.
—-
I wrote a love story.
You’ve heard of it before.
There was a couple rich in love.
Together they sought more.
One day, the boy ran away
towards Heaven’s open door,
and the girl was left to face a day–
lonely, sad, and poor.
—-
I scribed a great opera,
though only in my head.
When I tried to write it down,
I wrote my thoughts instead.
Without the music, pomp, and dance
that seem real in dreams and bed,
the story is quite simple:
“I loved him, but he’s dead.”
—-
I wrote a little ditty,
an epic one in fact,
but the bustle of the city
made me write it very fast.
I cut it down to nitty gritty,
and finished it at last:
“I loved him but he died without me.
And that’s that.”
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Do you have a favorite Frost poem? Has the briskness of the news ever made you cringe?
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Daily Post: National Poetry Writing Month is nearly at at end. To celebrate it, try your hand at some verse. http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/04/29/daily-prompt-dickinson/
