Narrative Poem Research

Birches
            
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
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
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
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.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
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. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. 


Robert Frost's Birches is written in blank verse, which means that it is mostly unrhymed with iambic pentameter structure (steady meter). Compares to other narrative poems, I think Birches isn't quite long. The speaker is probably an old wise man who has experienced the darkness of the world and I assume that the speaker is the author himself, because the speaker reminded his carefree childhood. The poem examines common life experience, in which the speaker is eager to escape from the Earth by climbing the birches to the heaven, but he wants to return to Earth, too. The poem examines that escape isn't the right choice because it's temporary and the speaker has to return to the "Truth". The speaker has responsibilities on the ground, though he wants to escape, he has to fulfill his missions. The author's tone is distress since he is in the dilemma, whether escaping or facing the truth that he has responsibilities. Diction influences the style since the author compares bent birches to straighter, darker trees; ice to sunny which creates a dilemma. I think that the poem has rich figures of speech. Cracks and Crazes is alliteration since it represents the wrinkles of old ages. Cracking ice is an example of metaphor because it is compared to both crystal shells and broken glass. The ice storm which bent the birches to left and right symbolizes that life weights people down with stress and responsibilities. The author uses simile to describe that the trunks of birches arching in the woods like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair. Dramatic irony occurs in the poem in which the author hopes to get away from the Earth but he knows that he can't escape from the reality. "One could do worse than be a swinger of birches." is an understatement in which a speaker says less than what he/she means. The last sentence leaves a lingering aftertaste since it seems unimportant but actually impresses the readers. Readers will think deeply, and smile at the bittersweet of the poem. I think that the author uses great imagery since he describes the birches lively. I can imagine how the thick ice crust covers the birches. The visual and auditory images clearly appear in my mind. I can visualize the ice storm and hear the wintry storm clicking in the breeze according to "Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning/After a rain. They click upon themselves/ As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored/ As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel." However, "Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells/ shattering and avalanching gives me a warm touch. I think that the author's style is poetic and it created a rhythm when the author switches from the old age to the youth. I appreciate Frost's poems because he has the magical power which draws the readers to love his poems and understand the world in a different point of view.