Frost's prose makes a case for his self-conscious craftsmanship
The Collected Prose of Robert Frost
by Robert Frost
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People think of Robert Frost these days, if they think of him at all, as the kind of old-fashioned, well-behaved New England poet who could safely be chosen to read at a presidential inauguration—a chronicler of rural beauties, family values, and snowy trips to Grandmother's house, much anthologized by educational authorities and often quoted by people who know little about poetry, but not really very good. So it may come as something of a surprise to run across a sentence by Randall Jarrell—possibly the twentieth century's sharpest, most judgmental poet-critic—that reads, in its entirety: "Robert Frost, along with Stevens and Eliot, seems to me the greatest of the American poets of this century."
If we have forgotten this about Frost, it is partly his own doing. His being chosen to read at John F. Kennedy's
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