Foo - I want to know what you think of this poem.

This was on my english mid-term today.

"Retrospect"
"Last year changed its seasons
subtly, stripped its sultry winds
for the reds of dying leaves, let
gelid drips of winter ice melt onto a
warming earth and urged the dormant
bulbs to brave the
pain of spring.

We, loving, above the whim of
time, did not notice.

Alone, I remember now."
- Maya Angelou

We had to make a connection between a story about a man leaving for war, and his family dies, whatever, some stuff like that. Anyway the main idea between the two was the choices we make, and how they affect others. What do you think of this. I thought this poem was pretty abstract relative to the topic of choices affecting others as well as yourself, but I thought I constucted a well written essay from it, I was happy with what I wrote. I basically wrote about how the choices we make echo in eternity, some stuff to that nature.


Just comment your thoughts on it, I want to hear some opinions on it.

Beautiful poem. I got to see Maya Angelou in person during high school (in CA) when she came to read at the local state college. Her presence was simply majestic and brilliant. She showed up to speak, despite having the flu and barely being able to stand, and that put it over the top for me.

I see it as how beautiful things happen in our lives all the time, which we overlook and take for granted, because we're too consumed with chasing material things and pleasing others with those things. Only later, when you can look back on those things, you finally (and maybe tragically) appreciate what you had all-along.

Yea agreed it is a beautiful poem. So it is a little abstract to base on the idea of "choices affecting people." My teachers said it was a bit of a stretch, not something they would have choosen for the topic. Still enjoyed it though.

It doesn't rhyme.

Maya Angelou spoke at my college graduation, but I don't remember anything she said :rolleyes:. I seem to recall it being pretty thoughtful though.

Very thoughtful analysis, sunninho.

I took the word "loving" to more specifically mean "lovers" that were no longer in love.

Thanks for the poem scarpi41. I learned a new word: gelid.

It's not frost to say.

Very thoughtful analysis, sunninho.

I took the word "loving" to more specifically mean "lovers" that were no longer in love.

Thanks for the poem scarpi41. I learned a new word: gelid.

Yeah, after reading it again, I'd probably take it as two lovers (or family members) who seemed to overlook the simple and, at the same time, awesome moments of everyday life (the lifecycle of nature) . Now, that they aren't together anymore, there's lonely retrospect -- in looking back -- because you can't share awareness of those moments anymore.

"The Road Not Taken"
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This is one of my favorites by him.

Scottogo, you want Frost, you got Frost!

Whats your favorite?

http://www.bikeforums.net/showthread.php?t=168932&highlight=haiku

and


Song of the Horseman (Jinete)

Córdoba,
distant and alone.

Black pony, big moon,
olives in my saddlebag.
Though I know these roads,
I’ll never reach Córdoba.

Through the plains, through wind,
black pony, red moon,
death watching me
from the high towers of Córdoba.

Ay! What a long road.
Ay! What a brave pony.
Ay! Death, you will take me,
on the road to Córdoba.

Córdoba,
distant and alone.

–Federico García Lorca