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Words and brushstrokes (Frost & Van Gogh)
Thread poster: Aurora Humarán
Aurora Humarán  Identity Verified
Argentina
Local time: 21:34
English to Spanish
+ ...
Oct 30, 2004



Stars
How countlessly they congregate
O'er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!
As if with keenness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva's snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.

Robert Frost


Robert Lee Frost, American poet. He was born in San Francisco in 1874 and died in Boston in 1963.

Vincent Van Gogh was born in the Netherlands in 1853. He died at...43 in a small town, near Paris.



[Edited at 2004-10-30 10:26]


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Patricia Posadas  Identity Verified
Spain
Local time: 01:34
Member (2002)
English to Spanish
+ ...
The road not taken Oct 30, 2004

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.

The Road Not Taken (by Robert Frost in "The Poetry of Robert Frost : The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged", p.105. Edited by Edward Connery Lathem)

This is one of my favorites... but the whole book is a kind of treasure:-)


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Martin Harvey  Identity Verified
Argentina
Member (2004)
English to Spanish
+ ...
A poem by Robert Frost. Oct 30, 2004

Some say the world
Will end in fire
Some say in snow

From what I’ve tasted of
Desire I side with those
Who favour fire, but
If it had to perish twice
I think I know enough
Of hate to say that
For destruction fire is
Also great and would suffice.


On reading (and seeing!) I just brought back this poem from some place in my memory. I am not pretty sure it is correct in in its metric and contect form, but almost, and can't remember the title. I know, though, that Frost was a farmer, and that he once come across a house that was on fire right, and right in the middle of the snow.


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RHELLER
United States
Local time: 18:34
French to English
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more on Vincent (not trying to compete with Robert Frost) Oct 30, 2004

Thanks, Aurora and Patricia

This song is about Vincent Van Gogh and is usually connected with the above painting "Starry Night".

http://www.vangoghgallery.com/painting/p_0612.htm

"Vincent" by Don McClean (1971)

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will.


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Aurora Humarán  Identity Verified
Argentina
Local time: 21:34
English to Spanish
+ ...
TOPIC STARTER
Thank you :-))) Oct 30, 2004

Thank you for enriching this thread with more poetry, Patricia, Harvey and Rita.

Patri, that is, perhaps, my favourite poem in the English language. Some time ago I wrote something about it here, in the Literature Forum. I will try to find it.

Rita, Van Gogh is my favourite painter.

Coincidences?

Au


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Seadeta Osmani  Identity Verified
Croatia
Local time: 02:34
English to Croatian
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Fire and Ice Oct 30, 2004

harvey63 wrote:

Some say the world
Will end in fire
Some say in snow

From what I’ve tasted of
Desire I side with those
Who favour fire, but
If it had to perish twice
I think I know enough
Of hate to say that
For destruction fire is
Also great and would suffice.


On reading (and seeing!) I just brought back this poem from some place in my memory. I am not pretty sure it is correct in in its metric and contect form, but almost, and can't remember the title. I know, though, that Frost was a farmer, and that he once come across a house that was on fire right, and right in the middle of the snow.


One of my favs!

Fire and Ice
-- by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.


[Edited at 2004-10-30 21:35]


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Roomy Naqvy  Identity Verified
India
Local time: 06:04
English to Hindi
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Thawing with *Frost* Oct 31, 2004

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.


My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


The first Indian Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru loved Stopping by woods on a snowy evening so much that he had it written on his study table and in moments of crisis, he found it exceptionally inspiring. Thanks Aurora for bringing up such a wonderful discussion.

Roomy


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DGK T-I  Identity Verified
United Kingdom
Local time: 01:34
Member (2003)
Georgian to English
+ ...
Thank you Aurora & everyone Oct 31, 2004

for reminding me of all these old friends.
It makes me want to quote


Dust of Snow

THE way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.



[Edited at 2004-10-31 19:45]


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Aurora Humarán  Identity Verified
Argentina
Local time: 21:34
English to Spanish
+ ...
TOPIC STARTER
From my school days... Oct 31, 2004

Patri:

Here goes some background I studied many many years ago. (Gondwana times? )

I remember having read that The Road not Taken is one of the less known of Frost's poems, the best, in my opinion. May be because of its own poetry, maybe because I tend to feel attracted by less travelled roads.

Have a nice weekend!
Au



The inspiration for it (The Road Not Taken) came from Frost’s amusement over a familiar mannerism of his closest friend in England, Edward Thomas. While living in Gloucestershire in 1914, Frost frequently took long walks with Thomas through the countryside. Repeatedly Thomas would choose a route which might enable him to show his American friend a rare plant or a special vista; but it often happened that before the end of such a walk Thomas would regret the choice he had made and would sigh over what he might have shown Frost if they had taken a \"better\" direction. More than once, on such occasions, the New Englander had teased his Welsh-English friend for those wasted regrets. Disciplined by the austere biblical notion that a man, having put his hand to the plow, should not look back, Frost found something quaintly romantic in sighing over what might have been. Such a course of action was a road never taken by Frost, a road he had been taught to avoid. In a reminiscent mood, not very long after his return to America as a successful, newly discovered poet, Frost pretended to \"carry himself\" in the manner of Edward Thomas just long enough to write \"The Road Not Taken\". Immediately, he sent a manuscript copy of the poem to Thomas, without comment, and yet with the expectation that his friend would notice how the poem pivots ironically on the un-Frostian phase, \"I shall be telling this with a sigh\". As it turned out Frost’s expectations were disappointed. Thomas missed the gentle jest because the irony had been handled too slyly, too subtly.

[Edited at 2004-10-31 19:32]


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