If life is a journey, this poem highlights those times in life when a decision has to be made.
Those Winter Sundays Poem by Robert Hayden I met Bob Hayden in the late s when I, a callow high-school teacher, joined him and others in a textbook authorship project.
I was in awe of the former poet laureate of Senegal and later America's first black poet laureate. A soft-spoken gentleman behind thick-lensed glasses, he put me at ease with his unassuming camaraderie.
He didn't speak much about himself. Other co-authors and editors sketched for me his early life: I treasure my memory of Robert Hayden.
Mingled with respectful memories of the father figure is his realization of the ingratitude that commonly accompanies youth. He is ashamed of having taken for granted the self-sacrificing duties routinely performed morning after morning by his hard-working and undemonstrative parent.
Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with his cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking, When the rooms were warm, he'd call and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices? In line one the common three-lettered word "too" is packed with meaning.
Sunday is the day of rest. A working man should be able to sleep later than on working days. But such was not the case for the man the poet called father. He rose early and set about the tasks of making the arising of the rest of his family less uncomfortable than it had been for himself.
The key images are of cold and heat, and they are rendered visually and audibly. In line two, "blueblack cold" recalls the blue-bottle ice of winter streets in the ghetto neighborhood of Detroit where the poet spent his boyhood. That coldness expressed more than the room temperature that the father was attempting to ameliorate by stirring banked fires into flame.
Such chill also describes the presumptuous and ungrateful attitude of the rest of the household, none of whom ever thanked the man for his efforts on their behalf. The past tense of the poem shows that a regretful realization of blind ingratitude has since dawned on the speaker.The Road Not Taken.
Robert Frost, - 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.
from the introductory class on The Road Not Taken. A test for the class content on vocabulary, grammar, content and general knowledge.
|Who can edit:||Ogilvie The visible sign of the poet's preoccupation--the word is not too strong--is the recurrent image, particularly in his earlier work, of dark woods and trees, Often, as in the lyric with which we have begun, the world of the woods Both worlds have claims on the poet.|
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You should be able t. 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; 5: Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim.
(a, b) and not quite seamless but once the decision is made (a), it can more along more smoothly (a) until a new predicament comes along (b) to make you stop and choose again. –Life is a .
Apr 26, · The words, “not taken” make me think that there is a choice that the narrator will make. He will take one path, and he will not take the other. The other poem says, “less traveled”. One of the most widely quoted poems ever written, “The Road Not Taken” was completed in and first published in Frost’s volume Mountain Interval ().
Taught in high school classrooms.