Form, Cycle, Infinity: Landscape Imagery in the Poetry of Robert Frost and George SeferisBucknell University Press, 1985 - 221 pages A study of selected landscape images in the work of two very different yet curiously related poets -- Robert Frost and George Seferis. The resulting study provides a focus of the oeuvre of each poet and finds underlying resemblances between the two poets' worlds. |
Table des matières
| 7 | |
| 15 | |
| 17 | |
| 21 | |
Boundary Wall House Inscription The Image of Stone | 46 |
1 Frost | 49 |
2 Seferis | 69 |
Notes | 88 |
Notes | 148 |
Stars and Light | 152 |
1 Frost on Stars | 155 |
2 Seferis on Light | 178 |
Notes | 204 |
Conclusion | 207 |
Notes | 214 |
Bibliography | 215 |
Autres éditions - Tout afficher
Form, Cycle, Infinity: Landscape Imagery in the Poetry of Robert Frost and ... Rachel Hadas Affichage d'extraits - 1985 |
Expressions et termes fréquents
Aeschylus Apple-Picking Athens become Birches Black Cottage boundaries cycle dark dialectic earth Edmund Keeley Edward Connery Emily Vermeule epigraph essay eyes familiar feel final Frost and Seferis Frost's and Seferis's Frost's poems Frostian garden George Seferis Greece Greek Greek Style Gymnopaidia Helen Bacon Holt human Ikaros imagination katharevousa kind landscape language Lawrance Thompson Letter light literary look lyric Makriyannis meaning Mending Wall mermaid mind Mythical History nature never Odysseus oeuvre Paris Review passage past poem's poet's poetic Poetics of Space poets Poirier quoted reader Reuben Brower rhythm Richard Poirier Rinehart & Winston Robert Frost seems Seferis's sense silence sinking sound space speaker speech Spring Pools stanza star poems stone Stratis Thalassinos symbol synecdoche theme things thought Three Secret Poems Thrush tion tradition trees turn University Press Vayenas vision voice Wild Grapes words writing York
Fréquemment cités
Page 205 - Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well...
Page 118 - My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
Page 107 - He thought he kept the universe alone; For all the voice in answer he could wake Was but the mocking echo of his own From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake. Some morning from the boulder-broken beach He would cry out on life, that what it wants Is not its own love back in copy speech, But counter-love, original response. And nothing ever came of what he cried Unless it was the embodiment that crashed In the cliff's talus on the other side, And then in the far distant water...
Page 101 - No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader. For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn't know I knew. I am in a place, in a situation, as if I had materialized from cloud or risen out of the ground. There is a glad recognition of the long lost and the rest follows. Step by step the wonder of unexpected supply keeps growing.
Page 118 - Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much ' Of apple-picking: I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
Page 155 - Thrush music — hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird By sleight of wing To better its perch for the night, Though it still could sing. The last of the light of the sun That had died in the west Still lived for one song more In a thrush's breast. Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went — Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament.
Page 64 - Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf, And the aged elm, though touched with fire; And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm; And the fence post carried a strand of wire.
Page 113 - I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again.
Page 108 - But never gets away; And that talks no less for knowing, As it grows wiser and older, That now it means to stay. My feet tug at the floor And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes when I watch trees sway, From the window or the door. IOS I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some day when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on.
Page 115 - To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be.