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228 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2009
“Dartmouth is my chief college,” [Frost] told an interviewer in 1960, “the first one I ran away from. I ran away from Harvard later, but Dartmouth first.”This book contains a little over a decade’s worth of Frost’s speeches on campuses, and there are some real gems in it. This is fascinating because it is such a product of its time - Frost talks about post-WWII and the Soviet Union in between his musings on writing, and this is a much more political book than I expected. (I wasn’t expecting politics at all.) Frost is engaging here: his speeches can feel conversational and laconic, but he’s also unafraid to take a stand, and something about that combination of tones makes him seem approachable.
But it’s always a bad sign to me when people come back from college, after two or three months, correcting their family about everything - pronunciation and all that - bad sign, getting educated too easily.I found myself laughing, and I wasn’t expecting that, either.
Then, another thing poetry is... it’s the dawning on you of an idea; the freshness caught of an idea dawning on you... Poetry has that freshness forever, of having caught the feeling that goes with an idea just as it comes over you.And:
Poetry is that that evaporates from both prose and verse when it’s translated. All this translated stuff is short of being poetry. It’s lost its poetry in being translated.And:
I can remember in that poem the first sense I had of the nicety of the words... that I couldn’t myself say differently. That is to say, I couldn’t translate it even into other English...He’s not exactly concise when he’s speaking, which is another thing that surprised me. I would never characterize his poetry as “meandering”, for example. But here he tends toward repetition.
If I know anything about writing, or about reading either, it’s that if you have an idea so complete that it’s already in phrases and everything - partly in phrases - you are in danger of being a translator when you write.
...and it never occurred to me for years and years. And I’m so selfish in my nature, in my ego, that I’m glad I waited all those years to find it out for myself and never had it pointed out to me by a teacher...He may meander, but he’s never boring.
And that’s so in my own poems. Somebody says to me, “I see what you mean, but just what are you driving at?” ...and I don’t want to have to tell that. And I think everybody’d be selfish enough to want to see that for himself.
And I look at a lot of our teaching as a kind of trespass on a lofty selfishness that young people ought to have.