The Figure A Poem Makes ~ Robert Frost

The figure a poem makes.

It begins in delight and ends in wisdom.

The figure is the same as for love.

No one can really hold that the ecstasy should be static and stand still in one place.

It begins in delight, it inclines to the impulse, it assumes direction with the first line laid down, it runs a course of lucky events, and ends in a clarification of life – not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.

It has denouement.

It has an outcome that though unforeseen was predestined from the first image of the original mood – and indeed from the very mood.

It is but a trick poem and no poem at all if the best of it was thought of first and saved for the last.

It finds its own name as it goes and discovers the best waiting for it in some final phrase at once wise and sad – the happy-sad blend of the drinking song.

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 I didn’t know I knew.

I am in a place, 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.

The impressions most useful to my purpose seem always those I was unaware and so made no note of at the time when taken, and the conclusion is come to that like giants we are always hurling experience ahead of us to pave the future with against the day when we may want to strike a line of purpose across it for somewhere.

The line will have the more charm for not being mechanically straight.

We enjoy the straight crookedness of a good walking stick….
More than once I should have lost my soul to radicalism if it had been the originality it was mistaken for by my young converts.

Originality and initiative are what I ask for my country.

For myself, the originality need be no more than the freshness of a poem run in the way I have described: from delight to wisdom.

The figure is the same as for love.

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.

A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried over into being.

Its most precious quality will remain its having run itself and carried away the poet with it.

Family Vacation In Texas & Louisiana from May 4 -14, 1990 (part 3 of 3)

by Rainbow Robin
age 16

Today, Thursday, May 10, 1990, we have been driving to Corpus Christi, Texas. We’re in the car right now. We stopped in this town called Buffalo. We saw a lady there who my mom had gone to junior high with in Arlington. The woman had her 12-year-old daughter with her who she had named Sonya after my mom.

I found out the other day that I am mostly Irish with some French in me, just like I thought, even though I never knew for sure. Gram hates the rain but, Aunt Norma Jean and Brandon like foggy days and rain like I do. Mamaw and Pap Pa (papaw) were both raised in Louisiana. She was born there and his family moved there from the east after they lost their Tennessee plantation during the war. Mimi thinks he may have been born in Arkansas but that the farm was in Tennessee. Our roots go way back in the south I suppose. Although on my Dad's side of the family they lived in New York state mostly after Ireland untill my Grandfather Fox moved the family to Dallas through his job with Kodak.

My Great-great-grandfathers name was Hezikeigh (Ezekiah) Eugene McGough. Pap Pa's name was Minor Leonard. Mamaw is Elsie Mae Gardner. Gardner is the French. Mom suggested that I name my someday son Giles Ezekiah. I kind of like it; I’ll keep it in mind.

Last night, on Thursday, we were supposed to drive to Corpus but it was almost 11:00 by the time we go to Austin, so we stayed at my Uncle Donny’s. I like their family a lot; their house is really comfortable. My cousin Amber Lynn is so cute and sweet. She’s just really gorgeous. She has these deep soulful eyes and sweet, long, thick, dark hair and is full of hugs and kisses. She draws a lot also. She has a book she colors in and wants to be an artist when she grows up. Her pictures remind me of mine when I was younger. Dawn says that Amber and I look alike in our faces.

Last night Mom, Donny and I were up talking. I got to hear some funny stories. I guess Ross has a band too and he wanted to do a jingle for one of Donny’s clients. So he called Donny and arranged it, but the company decided not to use them. Then a couple of months later Rhett decided he wanted to do a jingle also. So, he has his manager call Donny to ask about it. Donny told the manager that he could tell Rhett that he needed to call him if he wanted something from his uncle. That is so funny that Rhett had the nerve to do that but the thing is he probably just never thought about it.

This morning Donovan and Dawn came over for a while. Donovan really is a sweetheart. He has a really nice vibe. Dawn and I really got along well too. We have always been close even though we have always bickered. She is the cousin I feel the closest to.

I was talking last night with Jan about how interesting all my family is. I love my family so much, all of them, all my fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters (that includes you Erica, and everyone else), Aunts, Uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers and cousins. They all are trippy but I wouldn’t ask for anyone else.

I was talking last night about how the brothers are all little caricatures of Pop. All of them are very unique. They all have a little of his traits; more so in some than others. Ed is the intellectual, Randy is clever, Donny has heart, Scott likes to make sure things get accomplished and Jeb has a lot of his mannerisms. Jeb spent a lot of time with him and was with him when he died. Mom says Jeb has a lot of your spirit Pop.

After we talked about that I started thinking about you a lot. Pop, I love you so much. You are the only grandfather that I ever got to know and I never could have asked for a better one. You really brought all of our spirits and energies together like they were meant to be. We’re all here to help each other and you helped a lot. I love you so much; I know you’re with us. Thank you for everything.

Today is Monday and we are on our way home. I am sitting on the plane as I write this. Corpus Christi was nice. We arrived on Friday afternoon. Scott and Mimi were there. We didn’t do much. Mimi took Erin and me to Baubles & Beads. We had dinner with Mamaw, Mimi, mom, Erin & I. It was wonderful.

Saturday Erin and I went Mother’s Day shopping. We got mom one of those pigs that walks, then oinks and wriggles its nose. We go to ride on the same carousel that we rode last time we were here for Christmas.

When we got home Mimi was giving us all sorts of stuff. She gave me one of her cocktail dresses and a formal gown; the white one she had those pictures made in. What a lucky granddaughter I am.

Sunday morning we gave everyone their gifts. Everyone really enjoyed Mother’s Day. We went to the beach with Mamaw, at age 76 it was the first time in her life she had ever seen a beach. Then we all had brunch for Mother’s Day. It was so nice.

When we sent Mamaw home to Louisiana it was also her first time ever to fly on an airplane. Can you imagine?

I wish Mimi would slow down, but she never will because she doesn’t want to. I hope that I never get to be a perfectionist like her. It would stress me out. I bet she would be more stressed out if she wasn’t allowed to be a perfectionist.

That night I got to look at Mom Miller’s scrapbook and one she had made for Pop. All of the things from when Pop was first writing and drawing tripped me out because they were just exactly like any ones I have seen a little kid draw. They were no different because of the time period or anything. Everyone starts and ends. Pops letters and such were so cute. “Mom, can she? Huh-huh? Can she? Mom can she go? Please can she????????????????????? He weighed 9 pounds when he was born.

On the way to the airport Uncle Scott said to me that he was glad that I had grown up. I was always a beautiful person I just haven’t always been able to have the patience to show it in front of my family.

I met a girl, Amy, in the Dallas airport who also goes to College of the Redwoods. That’s how small Humboldt is, you usually see someone you know from there when you are flying home no matter how far away the airport you are at is.