I’ve mentioned before that I really enjoy the poetry of Robert Frost and always have found his work to be inspiring to me as a writer. Thus, when students say they find poetry “old-fashioned,” I always tell them to take a second and even a third look, because poets take the complicated and make it “digestible” for anyone’s palate.
Poetry has a way of rejuvenating the language and challenging our notions and preconceptions. It aims at creating something equal to the moment. Every writer should hope for such clarity. Here’s a neat little poem of Frost’s that I’ve always enjoyed, and that always reminded me of the way my dad would greet a neighbor or passer-by when he was out in his fields.
A Time to Talk
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, 'What is it?'
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
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