Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it And spills the upper boulders in the sun, And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: 5 I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, 10 But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. 15 To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: “Stay where you are until our backs are turned!” We wear our fingers rough with handling them. 20 Oh, just another kind of outdoor game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall:
有一点什么，它大概是不喜欢墙，
它使得墙脚下的冻地涨得隆起， 大白天的把墙头石块弄得纷纷落： 使得墙裂了缝，二人并肩都走得过。 士绅们行猎时又是另一番糟蹋： 他们要掀开每块石头上的石头， 我总是跟在他们后面去修补， 但是他们要把兔子从隐处赶出来， 讨好那群汪汪叫的狗。我说的墙缝 是怎么生的，谁也没看见，谁也没听见 但是到了春季补墙时，就看见在那里。 我通知了住在山那边的邻居；
有一天我们约会好，巡视地界一番， 在我们两家之间再把墙重新砌起。 我们走的时候，中间隔着一垛墙。 我们走的时候，中间隔着一垛培。 落在各边的石头，由各自去料理。 有些是长块的，有些几乎圆得像球． 需要一点魔术才能把它们放稳当：
“老实呆在那里，等我们转过身再落下！” 我们搬弄石头．把手指都磨粗了。 啊！这不过又是一种户外游戏，
一个人站在一边。此外没有多少用处：
Summary
He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across 25 And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors.” Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it 30 Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I’d ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offense. Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, 35 That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him, But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather He said it for himself. I see him there, Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. 40 He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father’s saying, And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.” 45 在墙那地方，我们根本不需要墙： 他那边全是松树，我这边是苹果园。 我的苹果树永远也不会踱过去 吃掉他松树下的松球，我对他说。 他只是说：“好篱笆造出好邻家。” 春天在我心里作祟，我在悬想 能不能把一个念头注入他的脑里： “为什么好篱笆造出好邻家？是否指着 有牛的人家？可是我们此地又没有牛。 我在造墙之前．先要弄个清楚， 圈进来的是什么，圈出去的是什么， 并且我可能开罪的是些什么人家， 有一点什么，它不喜欢墙， 它要推倒它。”我可以对他说这是“鬼”。 但严格说也不是鬼．我想这事还是 由他自己决定吧。我看见他在那里 搬一块石头，两手紧抓着石头的上端， 像一个旧石器时代的武装的野蛮人。 我觉得他是在黑暗中摸索， 这黑暗不仅是来自深林与树荫。 他不肯探究他父亲传给他的格言 他想到这句格言，便如此的喜欢， 于是再说一遍，“好篱笆造出好邻家”。
A stone wall separates the speaker’s property from his neighbor’s. In spring, the two meet to walk the wall and jointly make repairs. The speaker sees no reason for the wall to be kept—there are no cows to be contained, just apple and pine trees. He does not believe in walls for the sake of walls. The neighbor resorts to an old adage: “Good fences make good neighbors.” The speaker remains
unconvinced and mischievously presses the neighbor to look beyond the old-fashioned folly of such reasoning. His neighbor will not be swayed. The speaker envisions his neighbor as a holdover from a justifiably outmoded era, a living example of a dark-age mentality. But the neighbor simply repeats the adage. Form
Blank verse is the baseline meter of this poem, but few of the lines march along in blank verse’s characteristic lock-step iambs, five abreast. Frost maintains five stressed syllables per line, but he varies the feet extensively to sustain the natural speech-like quality of the verse. There are no stanza breaks, obvious end-rhymes, or rhyming patterns, but many of the end-words share an assonance (e.g., wall, hill, balls, wall, and well sun, thing, stone, mean, line, and again or game, them, and him twice). Internal rhymes, too, are subtle, slanted, and conceivably coincidental. The vocabulary is all of a piece—no fancy words, all short (only one word, another, is of three syllables), all conversational—and this is perhaps why the words resonate so consummately with each other in sound and feel. Commentary
I have a friend who, as a young girl, had to memorize this poem as punishment for some now-forgotten misbehavior. Forced
memorization is never pleasant; still, this is a fine poem for recital. “Mending Wall” is sonorous, homey, wry—arch, even—yet serene; it is steeped in levels of meaning implied by its well-wrought metaphoric suggestions. These implications inspire numerous interpretations and make definitive readings suspect. Here are but a few things to think about as you reread the poem.
The image at the heart of “Mending Wall” is arresting: two men meeting on terms of civility and neighborliness to build a barrier between them. They do so out of tradition, out of habit. Yet the very earth conspires against them and makes their task Sisyphean. Sisyphus, you may recall, is the figure in Greek mythology condemned perpetually to push a boulder up a hill, only to have the boulder roll down again. These men push boulders back on top of the wall; yet just as inevitably, whether at the hand of hunters or sprites, or the frost and thaw of nature’s invisible hand, the boulders tumble down again. Still, the neighbors persist. The poem, thus, seems to meditate conventionally on three grand themes: barrier-building (segregation, in the broadest sense of the word), the doomed nature of this enterprise, and our persistence in this activity regardless.
But, as we so often see when we look closely at Frost’s best poems, what begins in folksy straightforwardness ends in complex ambiguity. The speaker would have us believe that there are two types of people: those who stubbornly insist on building superfluous walls (with clichés as their justification) and those who would dispense with this practice—wall-builders and wall-breakers. But are these impulses so easily separable? And what does the poem really say about the necessity of boundaries?
The speaker may scorn his neighbor’s obstinate wall-building, may observe the activity with humorous detachment, but he himself goes to the wall at all times of the year to mend the damage done by hunters; it is the speaker who contacts the neighbor at wall-mending time to set the annual appointment. Which person, then, is the real wall-builder? The speaker says he sees no need for a wall here, but this implies that there may be a need for a wall elsewhere— “where there are cows,” for example. Yet the speaker must derive something, some use, some satisfaction, out of the exercise of wall-building, or why would he initiate it here? There is something in him that does love a wall, or at least the act of making a wall.
This wall-building act seems ancient, for it is described in ritual terms. It involves “spells” to counteract the “elves,” and the neighbor appears a Stone-Age savage while he hoists and transports a boulder. Well, wall-building is ancient and enduring—the building of the first walls, both literal and figurative, marked the very foundation of society. Unless you are an absolute anarchist and do not mind livestock munching your lettuce, you probably recognize the need for literal boundaries. Figuratively, rules and laws are walls; justice is the process of wall-mending. The ritual of wall maintenance highlights the dual and complementary nature of human society: The rights of the individual (property boundaries, proper boundaries) are affirmed through the affirmation of other individuals’ rights. And it demonstrates another benefit of community; for this communal act, this civic “game,” offers a good excuse for the speaker to interact with his neighbor. Wall-building is social, both in the sense of “societal” and “sociable.” What seems an act of anti-social
self-confinement can, thus, ironically, be interpreted as a great social gesture. Perhaps the speaker does believe that good fences make good neighbors— for again, it is he who initiates the wall-mending.
Of course, a little bit of mutual trust, communication, and goodwill would seem to achieve the same purpose between well-disposed neighbors—at least where there are no cows. And the poem says it twice: “something there is that does not love a wall.” There is some intent and value in wall-breaking, and there is some powerful tendency toward this destruction. Can it be simply that wall-breaking creates the conditions that facilitate wall-building? Are the groundswells a call to community- building—nature’s nudge toward concerted action? Or are they benevolent forces urging the demolition of traditional, small-minded boundaries? The poem does not resolve this question, and the narrator, who speaks for the groundswells but acts as a fence-builder, remains a contradiction.
Many of Frost’s poems can be reasonably interpreted as commenting on the creative process; “Mending Wall” is no exception. On the basic level, we can find here a discussion of the construction-disruption duality of creativity. Creation is a positive act—a mending or a building. Even the most destructive-seeming creativity results in a change, the building of some new state of being: If you tear down an edifice, you create a new view for the folks living in the house across the way. Yet creation is also disruptive: If nothing else, it disrupts the status quo. Stated another way, disruption is creative: It is the impetus that leads directly, mysteriously (as with the groundswells), to creation. Does the stone wall embody this duality? In any case, there is something about “walking the line”—and building it, mending it, balancing each stone with equal parts skill and spell—that evokes the mysterious and laborious act of making poetry.
On a level more specific to the author, the question of boundaries and their worth is directly applicable to Frost’s poetry. Barriers confine, but for some people they also encourage freedom and productivity by offering challenging frameworks within which to work. On principle, Frost did not write free verse. His creative process involved engaging poetic form (the rules, tradition, and boundaries—the walls—of the poetic world) and making it distinctly his own. By maintaining the tradition of formal poetry in unique ways, he was simultaneously a mender and breaker of walls.
Interpretation of Robert Frost’s “Mending Wall” ZHAO Xin-li
(School of Foreign Languages, Langfang Teachers College, Langfang 065000, China)
Abstract: Robert Frost is skillful at adopting symbolism and images in his poems. “Mending Wall”, one of Frost’s well-known poems, had been analyzed in different approaches, such as psychoanalytical approach, social approach and structural approaches, etc. By exploring the symbol and images applied in “Mending Wall”, it draws the conclusion that “the wall”, symbolizing convention, is set as a barrier in human communication. Key words: symbol; image; “Mending Wall”; convention 1. Introduction
Robert Frost is adept at applying symbolism and images in his poetry. One aspect of Frost’s theory is “his understanding of symbolism and how it functions in a poem” (Parini, 1993, p. 265). He classified himself as a poet who was a synecdochist and stated that he preferred synecdoche in poetry—that figure of speech we use a part for the whole. In his poetry, one image after another is unfolded gradually. It is rather easy for readers to catch the surface meaning of his poetry. However, the ulterior meaning, which is the value of his poetry, worths our life time of contemplation.
In “Mending Wall,” Robert Frost depicts a commonplace occurrence that a wall separating a farmer’s land from that of his neighbor’s has crumbled down and awaits repairs. Such is a scene typical in Robert Frost’s poems, which always take on an easy-understood appearance and is imbued with profound significance. “It would be a mistake to imagine that Frost is easy to understand because he is easy to read” (Elliott, 1988, p. 944). You “begin in delight, end in wisdom.” As we may mend a stone wall, pick up apples, watch a spider, and mow the lawn in his poems, we also acquire enlightenment and inspiration towards life. As it explores in “Mending Wall” that the wall—the symbol of convention—sometimes is set as a barrier in human communication. 2. The Wall as the Symbol of Convention
The poem starts with the crumbling down of the wall. Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spill the upper boulder in the sun, That makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
As soon as “I” find the toppling wall, “I let the neighbor know beyond the hill” and prepare to mend the wall. To the speaker, erecting a wall is a conventional concept, deeply ingrained in the mind. It is out of instinct that the speaker acknowledges the neighbor to repair the wall together. The wall standing between the lands of two
mending wall翻译及赏析.
