Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Snow Man



In our Society of Friends meeting, I mentioned this poem by Wallace Stevens which Bonnie recently posted.

One of our members taught this poem in his college English class. After our discussion, several members asked me to post it here, so here you go:

The Snow Man
(from Harmonium , 1923)
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.






P.S.  Now I see my blogger friend, steven, has posted it, too. Synchronicity is real.

4 comments:

Jenny Stevning said...

Too funny. Just left Steven's blog a few minutes ago. Synchronicity at it's best!! 'Tis a beautiful poem and I love the photo you have chosen.

steven said...

dan - i scanned my "must-read-in-the-morning" blogs and saw "the snow man" was the title of your blog and laughed quietly to myself. yes synchronicity is real. interestingly i hadn't noticed it at bonnie's blog which is interesting only because i visit her almost every day (and managed to miss this poem on her blog!!) hmmmmmm, and double hmmmmmmm! let's see what this all brings us and perhaps even learn why! steven

Bonnie, Original Art Studio said...

Hi Dan .... This is very interesting!

I, of course, love the last stanza, but there is so much meaning in the words "One must have a mind of winter...to regard...to behold...and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind..."

I am opening my heart to a mind of winter...

Thanks Dan. Have you read his poem "Sunday Morning"?

The Pollinatrix said...

And speaking of synchronicity - I have been hungering to read T.S. Eliot of late, so I pulled out an anthology of modern poetry that I have, flipped about for a moment and landed on Wallace Stevens. Go figure.

There seems to be a lot of poetry in general floating about the blogosphere of late. Is winter the most poetic season?