tinko tinko 'iddle 'tar

Whoo whee. Two posts in one day. What can I say? I've been meaning to post this for a long time, just never got around to it. This poem was first introduced to me by my mother. It remains a favorite. And yes I am aware of the analysis by scholars that the poem was written in response to Keat's Bright Star and also that Frost himself was making reference to T.S. Eliot and modern poetry throughout the poem, sort of a dialogue between poets. Whatever. It's still inspiring on any level and speaks truth. The man has a way with words, eh? The imagery and advice in his poem is worthy and profound.

It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame to far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our mind on and be staid.

When Cate sometimes sleeps over I like to lay down beside her crib on the floor. We tell stories and talk and sing songs. There is a glow-in-the-dark star stuck on the ceiling directly overhead (leftover from when the kids where small and once occupied the room). She always looks for it. Ld gave her a little flashlight that she loves to shine in her search. She gets so excited when she finally locates it and then we sing, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. It's magical and one of my favorite moments.

That always-looking for-the-star stuff, it resonates with me.

Set to music by Randall Thompson, (part of his Frostiana series) Frost’s poem can be seen by many as a metaphor for how we come to know truth. However and on what level you interpret the poem, it's simply beautiful. The music is too. (Turn up the volume, the audio is a little weak)



Or if you prefer the MoTab version here:
http://www.mormonvidz.com/video/110/The-Mormon-Tabernacle-Choir--Choose-Something-Like-A-Star

Choose Something Like a Star
by Robert Frost

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud—
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to the wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says, 'I burn.'
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.