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In what way(s) is Frost’s poem representative of many of the ideas and issues that characterize much of 20th Century art and literature? Connect his poem to one other poem we covered in class in the last three weeks and explain how they both reflect similar outlooks on the human condition and/or the nature of the universe in which we live.
Frost’s poem is shows it is unnatural to overwork children. In the poem, the farmer family over used their son and deprived him of his childhood, “Then the boy saw all—Since he was old enough to know, big boy/ Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart— He saw all was spoiled.” The boy notices
brevity or shortness of human life:
Bearing this in mind, the poem can be read as a critique as to how warfare can force innocent, young boys to leave their childhood behind, and ultimately be destroyed by circumstances created by the 'responsible' adult.
This is the third factual image that suggests the poet understands that it was unnatural to overwork the boy. Frost thinks the family over-used their son and deprived or robbed him of his childhood.
The theme of this poem is that it is wrong to deny children their childhood:
‘the half hour
that a boy counts so much when saved from work’.
The theme of this poem is the consequences of forcing a boy to do man’s work:
‘Doing a man's work, though a child at heart’.
Dylan Thomas
‘Out, Out—’
by Robert Frost
Robert Frost
The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them ‘Supper.’ At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws know what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all was spoiled. ‘Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!’
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened to his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Macbeth:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
