phaedra

Phaedra Summary

Phaedra opens with Hippolytus, son of Theseus and stepson of Phaedra, setting off on a hunt. He prefers the woods to the palace, and invokes Diana, goddess of the hunt, to help his luck. After his departure, Phaedra appears, racked with despair. Her wet-nurse inquires what it is that ails her; Phaedra confesses that she is in love with Hippolytus, and recalls her own mother Pasiphae’s lust for a bull – a lust that gave birth to the infamous Minotaur, which Theseus himself slew. She claims she is cursed by Venus, who is angry against Apollo, Phaedra’s ancestor, for having exposed Venus’ love for Mars.

The nurse pleads to Phaedra to control her passion and check her emotions, but it is no use. Phaedra speaks of herself as though of a ship caught in a storm and heading for the rocks: try as she may to change course, the waves will inexorably pull her toward her doom. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, the nurse resolves to try to help her mistress.

Hippolytus, biological son of the Amazonian Antiope (former wife of Theseus) is known to detest all women and forsake the pleasures of civilization. When he returns from the hunt, the nurse attempts to soften his heart, arguing that he should make use of his good fortune and enjoy fine food, wine, and the company of women. Hippolytus roundly rejects the idea, proclaiming that nature is where man is at his most free and innocent and that womankind is the cause of much evil.

At that moment, Phaedra appears, and swiftly collapses in a swoon. Hippolytus wakes her, then asks why she is so ill at ease. Unsure how to proceed at first, Phaedra summons the courage to tell Hippolytus the truth, hoping he may reciprocate her feelings and lend her “success” to cover up her “sins.” As it turns out, however, Hippolytus flies into a rage, railing against Phaedra and declaring her worse than her “monster-bearing mother.” He draws his sword on her, but when she says she hopes to die, he casts the weapon away and flees into the woods.

Phaedra’s nurse hatches a plan to conceal Phaedra’s guilt by accusing Hippolytus of attempting to rape his stepmother. His abandoned sword will serve as evidence. Shortly thereafter, Theseus returns, freshly escaped from the underworld. He sees Phaedra in distress, seemingly prepared to kill herself, and demands an explanation. Phaedra tells him someone he would least expect tried to rape her; she then points to Hippolytus’ sword. Theseus is aghast, and immediately calls on his father Neptune to kill his son.

A Messenger arrives, bearing news of Hippolytus’ death. As we learn, a monster emerged from the windswept sea and pursued Hippolytus’ horses; caught up in the reins, the young man was dragged and torn limb from limb. Seeing Hippolytus’ mangled corpse, Phaedra confesses the truth to Theseus, then falls on her sword and dies. Theseus curses himself for his foolhardy decision, then orders Hippolytus’ remains be gathered for a proper burial. “As for her,” he says, turning to Phaedra’s body, “let her be buried deep in earth, and heavy may the soil lie on her unholy head!”

Phaedra Character List

Hippolytus

Son of Theseus and the Amazonian Antiope. A lover of the hunt and of the woods, he is known to despise women. He prefers the freedoms of the wilderness to the comforts (and constraints) of civilization.

Phaedra

Theseus' wife and Hippolytus' stepmother. Daughter of Pasiphae, who fell in love with a bull and gave birth to the Minotaur, she too becomes stricken with a "sinful" desire - a lust for Hippolytus.

Theseus

King of Athens, famed for his heroic exploits, trapped in the Underworld at the play's beginning, on a quest with his friend Pirithous to capture Persephone and bring her to the mortal world. Known for his harshness, he killed his former wife Antiope, mother of Hippolytus.

The Nurse

Phaedra's wet-nurse, an old woman who at first seems a vessel of wisdom in her attempts to console and advise her mistress, but then reveals a more sinister side when she hatches a plan to falsely accuse Hippolytus of trying to rape his stepmother.

Arms and the Man Summary

The play unfolds in Bulgaria in 1885, towards the end of the Serbo-Bulgarian War. Raina Petkoff and her mother Catherine have received news that Raina’s fiancé Sergius led a victorious cavalry charge against Serbian forces. Louka, the household maid, enters to announce that the windows must be locked, as fleeing Serbian troops are being hunted down in the streets. Later that night a Serbian officer climbs the drainpipe outside Raina’s balcony and breaks into her room. Bulgarian soldiers arrive, asking to inspect the room, and Raina, overwhelmed by a moment of compassion, hides the enemy soldier behind her curtains. Louka is the only one who sees through the deception, but she only smirks and leaves in silence.

Once safe, the soldier comes out from hiding and explains he is a Swiss mercenary for the Serbian army. He admits to Raina that he does not carry cartridges for his gun, only chocolates, as these are more practical for a starving soldier. Thinking him childish, Raina offers the soldier some chocolate creams, which he devours hungrily. He explains that the cavalry charge led by Raina’s fiancé Sergius was only successful as a result of dumb luck. Angered, Raina finally demands he leave, yet the Swiss mercenary claims to be too exhausted to move. Feeling pity, Raina agrees to shelter him and runs to find her mother. When the two women return, the chocolate cream soldier, as Raina calls him, has fallen asleep in her bed.

The second act begins with Nicola, an older servant, lecturing his fiancée Louka on appropriate conduct toward their employers. As they speak, Major Petkoff, Raina’s father, returns from the front. He announces that the war has ended with a peace treaty, upsetting his wife Catherine who believes Bulgaria should have annexed Serbia. Shortly afterward, Raina’s fiancé Sergius arrives. The once idealistic man has grown cynical, resigning from the military and complaining about the lack of honor and bravery among professional soldiers. He recounts an anecdote about a fleeing Swiss mercenary escaping into the bedroom of a fascinated Bulgarian woman, alarming Raina and Catherine. Once alone, Raina and Sergius speak of their love for each other in reverential and somewhat ridiculous tones.

As soon as Raina leaves to get her hat, Sergius embraces Louka and complains about how exhausting his relationship with his fiancée is. Louka claims not to understand the hypocrisy of the upper class, saying that both Sergius and Raina pretend to love each other while flirting with other people. Demanding to know whom Raina has been seeing, Sergius grabs Louka and bruises her arm. Louka asks that he kiss it in apology but Sergius refuses just as Raina enters the garden. As the couple prepares to leave for a walk, Catherine calls Sergius to the library to help Major Petkoff arrange some troop movements.

Catherine and Raina discuss the significance of Sergius telling the anecdote about the escaping mercenary. To her mother’s chagrin, Raina expresses a desire for Sergius to learn of her part in the story, wishing to shock his faux propriety. As Raina exits, Louka enters and announces that a Swiss officer is at the door. Captain Bluntschli, the chocolate cream soldier, has come to return the coat that was used to smuggle him out of the house. As Catherine attempts to send him away, Major Petkoff recognizes him from the peace negotiations, greets him warmly, and asks him to help coordinate Bulgarian troop movements. Raina sees him in the hallway and gasps that it is the chocolate cream soldier. Thinking quickly, she explains to her father and fiancée that she made a chocolate cream decoration in the shape of a soldier, but that Nicola has clumsily crushed it.

Later that afternoon, Captain Bluntschli makes short work of the administrative tasks. Major Petkoff wonders about the fate of his old lost coat. At Catherine’s request, Nicola fetches the coat that had previously disappeared, astounding the Major. The Major, Sergius and Catherine leave to implement Bluntschli’s orders, leaving the Captain alone with Raina. Raina begins posturing, complaining how morally wounded she is by having to lie for him. The Captain sees through her act and confronts her; he is the first person to see her pretentious behavior for what it is. Raina admits to behaving theatrically and suspects Bluntschli must despise her. On the contrary, Bluntschli is charmed by her posturing but cannot take it seriously. Suddenly, Bluntschli receives a telegram informing him of his father’s death and his large inheritance.

Raina and Bluntschli exit as Louka and then Sergius enter. Sergius inspects Louka’s arm and offers to kiss her bruise but is rejected. Louka questions his notions of bravery, arguing that anyone may be brave in battle but few are able to stand up to social expectations. She asks Sergius if he would marry someone below his station for love. Sergius claims he would but uses his engagement to Raina as an excuse. Hurt, Louka teases him with the knowledge that Bluntschli is Raina’s true love.

Sergius challenges Bluntschli to a duel. Raina enters and argues with Sergius, announcing that she saw him embracing Louka. Bluntschli explains to Sergius that Raina only let him remain in her room at gunpoint. Somewhat deflated, Sergius withdraws from the duel. When Bluntschli suggests that Louka join the conversation, Sergius leaves to look for her, only to find her eavesdropping in the hallway. Having understood that something is awry, Major Petkoff enters and demands to know who the chocolate cream soldier is. Bluntschli admits that it is he. Raina explains that she is no longer engaged to Sergius, as he loves Louka. Sergius kisses Louka’s hand, committing himself to marry her. Louka’s original fiancé Nicola gracefully bows out. Bluntschli follows Sergius’ lead and asks for Raina’s hand. The Captain’s new inheritance - a successful chain of hotels - persuades Major Petkoff to agree to the marriage. Bluntschli leaves to take care of his father’s estate with promises to return in a fortnight.

The Frogs

ANCIENT GREECE - ARISTOPHANES - THE FROGS Introduction: (Comedy, Greek, 405 BCE, 1,533 lines) “The Frogs” (Gr: “Batrachoi”) is a comedy by the ancient Greek playwright Aristophanes. It won first prize at the Lenaia dramatic festival in 405 BCE, and was so successful that it was staged a second time later that same year at the Dionysia festival. It tells the story of the god Dionysus who, despairing of the current state of Athens' tragedians, travels to Hades with his slave Xanthias to bring Euripides back from the dead. Synopsis Dramatis Personae XANTHIAS, servant of Dionysus DIONYSUS HERACLES A CORPSE CHARON AEACUS A MAID SERVANT OF PERSEPHONE HOSTESS, keeper of cook-shop PLATHANE, her partner EURIPIDES AESCHYLUS PLUTO CHORUS OF FROGS CHORUS OF BLESSED MYSTICS The play opens as Dionysus and Xanthias (technically his slave, but clearly smarter, stronger, more rational, more prudent, and braver than Dionysus) argue over what kind of complaints Xanthias can use to open the play comically. Depressed by the state of contemporary Athenian tragedy, Dionysus plans to travel to Hades to bring the great tragedic dramatist Euripides back from the dead. Dressed in a Heracles-style lion-hide and carrying aHeracles-style club, he goes to consult with his half-brother Heracles himself (who had visited Hades when he went to retrieve Cerberus) as to the best way to get there. Bemused at the spectacle of the effeminate Dionysus, Heracles can only suggest the options of hanging himself, drinking poison or jumping off a tower. In the end, Dionysus opts for the longer journey across a lake, the same routeHeracles himself once took. They arrive at the Acheron and the ferryman Charon ferries Dionysus across, although Dionysus is obliged to help with the rowing (Xanthias, being a slave, has to walk around). On the crossing, a Chorus of croaking frogs (the frogs of the play’s title) joins them, and Dionysus chants along with them. He meets up with Xanthias again at the far shore, and almost immediately they are confronted by Aeacus, one of the judges of the dead, who is still angry over Heracles' theft of Cerberus. Mistaking Dionysus for Heracles due to his attire, Aeacus threatens to unleash several monsters on him in revenge, and the cowardly Dionysus quickly trades clothes with Xanthias. A beautiful maid of Persephone then arrives, happy to see Heracles (actually Xanthius), and she invites him to a feast with virgin dancing girls, in which Xanthias is more than happy to oblige.Dionysus, though, now wants to trade back the clothes, but as soon as he changes back into theHeracles lion-skin, he encounters more people angry at Heracles, and quickly forces Xanthias to trade a third time. When Aeacus returns once more, Xanthias suggests that he torture Dionysus to obtain the truth, suggesting several brutal options. The terrified Dionysus immediately reveals the truth that he is a god, and is allowed to proceed after a good whipping. When Dionysus finally finds Euripides (who has only just recently died), he is challenging the greatAeschylus to the seat of “Best Tragic Poet” at the dinner table of Hades, and Dionysus is appointed to judge a contest between them. The two playwrights take turns quoting verses from their plays and making fun of the other. Euripides argues the characters in his plays are better because they are more true to life and logical, whereas Aeschylus believes his idealized characters are better as they are heroic and models for virtue. Aeschylus shows that Euripides' verse is predictable and formulaic, while Euripides counters by setting Aeschylus' iambic tetrameter lyric verse to flute music. Finally, in an attempt to end the stalemated debate, a balance is brought in and the two tragedians are told to put a few of their weightiest lines onto it, to see in whose favour the balance will tip.Aeschylus easily wins, but Dionysus is still unable to decide whom he will revive. He finally decides to take the poet who gives the best advice about how to save the city of Athens.Euripides gives cleverly worded but essentially meaningless answers while Aeschylus provides more practical advice, and Dionysus decides to take Aeschylus back instead of Euripides. Before leaving, Aeschylus proclaims that the recently deceased Sophocles should have his chair at the dinner table while he is gone, not Euripides. Analysis The underlying theme of “The Frogs” is essentially “old ways good, new ways bad”, and that Athens should turn back to men of known integrity who were brought up in the style of noble and wealthy families, a common refrain in Aristophanes’ plays. In terms of politics, “The Frogs” is not usually considered one of Aristophanes’ “peace plays” (several of his earlier plays call for an end to the Peloponnesian War, almost at any cost), and indeed the advice of Aeschylus’ character towards the end of the play lays out a plan to win and not a proposition of capitulation. The parabasis to the play also advises returning the rights of citizenship back to those who had participated in the oligarchic revolution in 411 BCE, arguing they were misled by Phrynichos' tricks (Phrynichos was a leader of the oligarchic revolution, assassinated to general satisfaction in 411 BCE), an idea which was actually later put into effect by the Athenian government. Certain passages in the play also seem to stir memories of the returned Athenian general Alcibiades after his earlier defection. However, despite Aristophanes’ concerns for the delicate state of Athenian politics at that time (which do surface from time to time), the play is not strongly political in nature, and its main theme is essentially literary, namely the poor state of contemporary tragedic drama in Athens. Aristophanes began composing “The Frogs” not long after Euripides' death, around 406 BCE, at which time Sophocles was still alive, which is probably the main reason why Sophocles was not involved in the competition of poets which comprises the agon or main debate of the play. As it happens, however, Sophocles also died during that year, and that may have forced Aristophanes to revise and adjust some details of the play (which was probably already in the late stages of development), and this may well account for the mention of Sophocles late in the surviving version of the work. Aristophanes does not scruple to attack and mock Dionysus, the guardian god of his own art and in honour of whom the play itself was exhibited, secure in the belief that the gods understood fun as well, if not better, than men. Thus, Dionysus is portrayed as a cowardly, effeminate dilettante, farcically dressed up in a hero’s lion-skin and club, and reduced to rowing himself over the lake to Hades. His half-brother, the hero Heracles, is likewise treated somewhat irreverently, depicted as a boorish brute. Xanthias, Dionysus’ slave, is depicted as smarter and more reasonable than either of them.

Robert Frost: Philosophy of his poems

As a poet, Robert Frost was greatly influenced by the emotions and events of everyday life. Within a seemingly banal event from a normal day—watching the ice weigh down the branches of a birch tree, mending the stones of a wall, mowing a field of hay—Frost discerned a deeper meaning, a metaphysical expression of a larger theme such as love, hate, or conflict.

Frost is perhaps most famous for being a pastoral poet in terms of the subject of everyday life. Many of his most famous poems (such as “Mending Wall” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”) are inspired by the natural world, particularly his time spent as a poultry farmer in New Hampshire. Ironically, until his adulthood in New England, Frost was primarily a “city boy” who spent nearly all of his time in an urban environment. It is possibly because of his late introduction to the rural side of New England that Frost became so intrigued by the natural world.

After the publication of his Collected Poems in 1930, Frost clarified his interest in the pastoral world as a subject for his poetry, writing: “Poetry is more often of the country than the city…Poetry is very, very rural – rustic. It might be taken as a symbol of man, taking its rise from individuality and seclusion – written first for the person that writes and then going out into its social appeal and use.” Yet Frost does not limit himself to expressing the pastoral only in terms of beauty and peace, as in a traditional sense. Instead, he also chooses to emphasize the harsh conflicts of the natural world: the clash between urban and rural lifestyles, the unfettered emotions and struggles inherent in rural life, even the sense of loss and simultaneous growth that accompanies the changing of the seasons.

Frost’s poetry is also significant because of the amount of autobiographical material that it contains. Frost was not a happy man; he suffered from serious bouts of depression and anxiety throughout his life and was never convinced that his poetry was truly worthwhile (as evidenced by his obsessive desire to receive a Nobel Prize). He suffered through the untimely deaths of his father, mother, and sister, as well as four of his six children and his beloved wife, all of which contributed to the melancholic mentality that appears in much of Frost’s work.

The raw emotion and sense of loss that pervades Frost’s poetry is particularly clear because of his straightforward verse style. Although he worked within some traditional poetic forms (usually iambic meter), he was also flexible and changed the requirements of the form if it conflicted with the expression of a particular line. Yet, even as he was willing to utilize the basic conventions of some poetic forms, Frost refused to sacrifice the clarity of his poetry. With that in mind, he was particularly interested in what he called “the sound of sense,” a poetic belief system in which the sound of the poetry (rhythm, rhyme, syllables) is as important to the overall work as the actual words. Therefore, in poems such as “Mowing” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Frost’s use of particular words and rhythmic structure creates an aural sense of the mood and subject of the piece even as the words outline the narrative.

Frost’s use of “the sound of sense” is most successful because of the general clarity and even colloquial nature of his poetry. At one point in his life, he asserted, “All poetry is a reproduction of the tones of actual speech.” Although this quotation is perhaps a generalization of Frost’s poetic style, it does speak to the accessibility and simplicity that has made Frost’s poetry so appealing to so many readers for decades. Because of the clarity of the sounds in his work, both in terms of the narrative and in terms of “the sound of sense,” the readers are able to comprehend the basic emotion of a poem almost instantly and then explore the deeper, more metaphysical meanings behind each simple line.

During his beginnings as a poet, Frost was often criticized for using such a colloquial tone in his poetry. When his first poem was published in The Independent in 1894, the acceptance was accompanied by a copy of Lanier’s “Science of English Verse,” a not so subtle suggestion that Frost needed to work on mastering a more traditional tone and meter. Even after his success as a poetic was assured, Frost was still censured by some for writing seemingly simplistic poetry, works that were not reminiscent of high art.

Yet even though Frost’s poetry is simple and clear, Richard Wilbur points out that it is not written in the colloquial language of an uneducated farm boy, but rather in “a beautifully refined and charged colloquial language.” In other words, Frost’s ability to express such a depth of feeling in each of his poems through the medium of colloquial speech reveals a far greater grasp of the human language than many of his critics would admit. It is because of the clarity of his poetry that his poems are beloved and studied in high schools throughout the United States, and it is also because of this clarity that Frost is able to explore topics of emotion, struggle, and conflict that would be incomprehensible in any other form.

Robert Frost: Poems Summary and Analysis of "Acquainted with the Night" (1928)

The narrator describes his loneliness as he walks the isolated city streets at night. He has walked beyond the city limits and along every city lane, but has never found anything to comfort him in his depression. Even when he makes contact with another person (such as the watchman), the narrator is unwilling to express his feelings because he knows that no one will understand him. At one point he hears a cry from a nearby street, but realizes that it is not meant for him; no one is waiting for him. He looks up at the moon in the sky and acknowledges that time has no meaning for him because his isolation is unending.

Analysis

This poem is written in strict iambic pentameter, with the fourteen lines of a traditional sonnet. In terms of rhyme scheme, Frost uses the “terza rima” ("third rhyme") pattern of ABA CDC DAD AA, which is exceptionally difficult to write in English.

This poem is commonly understood to be a description of the narrator’s experiences with depression. The most crucial element of his depression is his complete isolation. Frost emphasizes this by using the first-person term “I” at the beginning of seven of the lines. Even though the watchman has a physical presence in the poem, he does not play a mental or emotional role: the narrator, the sole “I,” remains solitary. Similarly, when the narrator hears the “interrupted cry” from another street, he clarifies that the cry is not meant for him, because there is no one waiting for him at home.

The narrator’s inability to make eye contact with the people that he meets suggests that his depression has made him incapable of interacting in normal society. While normal people are associated with the day (happiness, sunlight, optimism), the narrator is solely acquainted with the night, and thus can find nothing in common with those around him. The narrator is even unable to use the same sense of time as the other people in the city: instead of using a clock that provides a definitive time for every moment, the narrator relies solely on “one luminary clock” in the sky.

Ironically, since night is the only time that he emerges from his solitude, the narrator has even less opportunity to meet someone who can pull him from his depression. His acquaintance with the night constructs a cycle of depression that he cannot escape.

Frost adds to the uncertainty inherent in the poem by incorporating the present perfect tense, which is used to describe something from the recent past, as well as something from the past that is still ongoing in the present. It seems as if the narrator’s depression could be from the recent past because of the phrase: “I have been…” However, the verb tense also suggests that his depression could still be a constant, if unseen, force. With that in mind, it is unclear whether the narrator will truly be able to come back to society or if his depression will resurface and force him to be, once again, acquainted with the night.

Birch:

Summary

When the speaker sees bent birch trees, he likes to think that they are bent because boys have been “swinging” them. He knows that they are, in fact, bent by ice storms. Yet he prefers his vision of a boy climbing a tree carefully and then swinging at the tree’s crest to the ground. He used to do this himself and dreams of going back to those days. He likens birch swinging to getting “away from the earth awhile” and then coming back.

Form

This is blank verse, with numerous variations on the prevailing iambic foot.

Commentary

The title is “Birches,” but the subject is birch “swinging.” And the theme of poem seems to be, more generally and more deeply, this motion of swinging. The force behind it comes from contrary pulls—truth and imagination, earth and heaven, concrete and spirit, control and abandon, flight and return. We have the earth below, we have the world of the treetops and above, and we have the motion between these two poles.

The whole upward thrust of the poem is toward imagination, escape, and transcendence—and away from heavy Truth with a capital T. The downward pull is back to earth. Likely everyone understands the desire “to get away from the earth awhile.” The attraction of climbing trees is likewise universal. Who would not like to climb above the fray, to leave below the difficulties or drudgery of the everyday, particularly when one is “weary of considerations, / And life is too much like a pathless wood.” One way to navigate a pathless wood is to climb a tree. But this act of climbing is not necessarily so pragmatically motivated: For the boy, it is a form of play; for the man, it is a transcendent escape. In either case, climbing birches seems synonymous with imagination and the imaginative act, a push toward the ethereal, and even the contemplation of death.

But the speaker does not leave it at that. He does not want his wish half- fulfilled—does not want to be left, so to speak, out on a limb. If climbing trees is a sort of push toward transcendence, then complete transcendence means never to come back down. But this speaker is not someone who puts much stock in the promise of an afterlife. He rejects the self-delusional extreme of imagination, and he reinforces his ties to the earth. He says, “Earth’s the right place for love,” however imperfect, though his “face burns” and “one eye is weeping.” He must escape to keep his sanity; yet he must return to keep going. He wants to push “[t]oward heaven” to the limits of earthly possibility, but to go too far is to be lost. The upward motion requires a complement, a swing in the other direction to maintain a livable balance.

And that is why the birch tree is the perfect vehicle. As a tree, it is rooted in the ground; in climbing it, one has not completely severed ties to the earth. Moreover, as the final leap back down takes skill, experience, and courage, it is not a mere retreat but a new trajectory. Thus, one’s path up and down the birch is one that is “good both going and coming back.” The “Truth” of the ice storm does not interfere for long; for the poet looks at bent trees and imagines another truth: nothing less than a recipe for how to live well.

A poem as richly textured as “Birches” yields no shortage of interpretations. The poem is whole and lovely at the literal level, but it invites the reader to look below the surface and build his or her own understanding. The important thing for the interpreter is to attune her reading to the elements of the poem that may suggest other meanings. One such crucial element is the aforementioned swinging motion between opposites. Notice the contrast between Truth and what the speaker prefers to imagine happened to the birch trees. But also note that Truth, as the speaker relates it, is highly figurative and imaginative: Ice storms are described in terms of the “inner dome of heaven,” and bent trees as girls drying their hair in the sun. This sort of truth calls into question whether the speaker believes there is, in fact, a capital-T Truth.

The language of the poem—the vocabulary and rhythms—is very conversational and, in parts, gently humorous: “But I was going to say when Truth broke in / With all her matter of fact about the ice storm.” But the folksiness does not come at the cost of accuracy or power; the description of the post-ice storm birch trees is vivid and evocative. Nor is this poem isolated, with its demotic vocabulary, from the pillars of poetic tradition. The “pathless wood” in line 44enters into a dialogue with the whole body of Frost’s work—a dialogue that goes back to the opening lines of Dante’s Inferno . And compare line 13 with these well-known lines from Shelley’s elegy for Keats, “Adonais”: “Life, like a dome of many colour’d glass, / Stains the white radiance of Eternity, / Until death tramples it to fragments.” In “Birches,” the pieces of heaven shattered and sprinkled on the ground present another comparison between the imaginative and the concrete, a description of Truth that undermines itself by invoking an overthrown, now poetic scheme of celestial construction (heavenly spheres). Shelley’s stanza continues: “Die, / If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek.” Frost’s speaker wants to climb toward heaven but then dip back down to earth—not to reach what he seeks but to seek and then swing back into the orbit of the world.

Frost also imbues the poem with distinct sexual imagery. The idea of tree-climbing, on its own, has sexual overtones. The following lines are more overt:

One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer.

As are these more sensual:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

The whole process of birch swinging iterates that of sex, and at least one critic has noted that “Birches” is a poem about erotic fantasy, about a lonely, isolated boy who yearns to conquer these trees sexually. It is a testament to the richness of the poem that it fully supports readings as divergent as those mentioned here—and many more.

Two more items to consider: First, reread the poem and think about the possible connections between getting “away from the earth for awhile” (line 48) and death. Consider the viewpoint of the speaker and where he seems to be at in his life. Secondly, when the speaker proclaims, in line 52, “Earth’s the right place for love,” this is the first mention of love in the poem. Of what kind of love does he speak? There are many kinds of love, just as there are many potential objects of love. Try relating this love to the rest of the poem.

Robert Frost: Poems Summary and Analysis of "Birches" (1916)

When the narrator looks at the birch trees in the forest, he imagines that the arching bends in their branches are the result of a boy “swinging” on them. He realizes that the bends are actually caused by ice storms - the weight of the ice on the branches forces them to bend toward the ground - but he prefers his idea of the boy swinging on the branches, climbing up the tree trunks and swinging from side to side, from earth up to heaven. The narrator remembers when he used to swing on birches and wishes that he could return to those carefree days.

Analysis

This poem is written in blank verse with a particular emphasis on the “sound of sense.” For example, when Frost describes the cracking of the ice on the branches, his selections of syllables create a visceral sense of the action taking place: “Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells / Shattering and avalanching on the snow crust — / Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away…”

Originally, this poem was called “Swinging Birches,” a title that perhaps provides a more accurate depiction of the subject. In writing this poem, Frost was inspired by his childhood experience with swinging on birches, which was a popular game for children in rural areas of New England during the time. Frost’s own children were avid “birch swingers,” as demonstrated by a selection from his daughter Lesley’s journal: “On the way home, i climbed up a hi birch and came down with it and i stopt in the air about three feet and pap cout me.”

In the poem, the act of swinging on birches is presented as a way to escape the hard rationality or “Truth” of the adult world, if only for a moment. As the boy climbs up the tree, he is climbing toward “heaven” and a place where his imagination can be free. The narrator explains that climbing a birch is an opportunity to “get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.” A swinger is still grounded in the earth through the roots of the tree as he climbs, but he is able to reach beyond his normal life on the earth and reach for a higher plane of existence.

Frost highlights the narrator’s regret that he can ow longer find this peace of mind from swinging on birches. Because he is an adult, he is unable to leave his responsibilities behind and climb toward heaven until he can start fresh on the earth. In fact, the narrator is not even able to enjoy the imagined view of a boy swinging in the birches. In the fourth line of the poem, he is forced to acknowledge the “Truth” of the birches: the bends are caused by winter storms, not by a boy swinging on them.

Significantly, the narrator’s desire to escape from the rational world is inconclusive. He wants to escape as a boy climbing toward heaven, but he also wants to return to the earth: both “going and coming back.” The freedom of imagination is appealing and wondrous, but the narrator still cannot avoid returning to “Truth” and his responsibilities on the ground; the escape is only a temporary one.