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.
“Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening“, the magical creation of Robert Frost beautifully summarises the essence of human lives. Our heart is tempted at various junctures to devote ourselves entirely to pleasure, we wish to savour the beautiful moments for a little longer but the pressure of obligations is what keeps us going and that is how life is supposed to be.
Poetry is fascinating. The interplay of words, emotions, rhythm and the inconspicuously varied meanings give rise to these enigmatic creations. It contains a story, experiences and loads of wisdom packed in a few lines. Deciphering its meaning is much like solving a puzzle. Even when one thinks that they have got it, a refreshingly new take appears out of nowhere and presents an equally strong claim to the true purpose of the poem. The poet writes with a motive and is influenced by the social, political and philosophical thought prevalent at the time of writing, yet the beauty of the poems lies in the fact that most of the times it can be interpreted in the modern society as well and present an equally meaningful connotation.
Poetry gives us this tantalising outburst of emotions when we’re able to relate to it. Yet, it is rare to find people savouring good poetry after passing out from school while there is no dearth of readers of prose. Poetry is meant to be embraced and expressed, not to be learnt and summarised: the way we are taught in schools. The tendency of our educational system of standardising and streamlining everything actually takes away the innate beauty of these extraordinary creations. That said, the best way to truly appreciate a poem is to extrapolate its meaning in the context of our own lives. When that connection is established, the poem is bound to stay with us for long. To conclude, I’d like to quote the following lines from Wordsworth’s “Daffodils“, which very well provide the pith of the kind of effect poetry is ought to have on our hearts.
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.