Kathryn Schulz, for the Vulture, highlights the work of Robert Frost.
From the essay...
Whose woods these are I think you know. Because, really, how
could you not? Other than the ones where Dante got lost, they might be
the most famous woods in the history of verse; certainly they are the
most famous woods in American literature. I am talking, of course, about
the forest in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
I can recall with some clarity my first encounter with those
woods, which was also my first encounter with Frost. I was in the fourth
grade. The poem was on the blackboard, and my teacher asked for a
volunteer to read it aloud. Guess who raised her nerdy hand? “My little
horse”—oh, damn; too late, I saw it coming—“must think it queer”: My
classmates hooted. Eventually I finished, and we discussed the poem for a
while. Then we read it aloud again, this time en masse—the way, each
morning, we recited the Pledge of Allegiance.
A quarter-century later, I’m sitting at a different desk, looking at the same poem—this time in The Art of Robert Frost, a new book by British professor Tim Kendall.
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