Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

I'm moving away from love poems this week (or am I?) to talk about a more apocalyptic topic and to reference my favorite poet of all time, Robert Frost. Frost is known primarily for his nature poetry (two of his most famous are Two Roads Diverged in a Wood and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening), but I'm providing something a little different.

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

For a poet so known for his contemplation on the beauty of nature, this poem seems more than a little dark. I haven't come across a lot of poetry that talks about the apocalypse, which makes this all the more interesting for me.

Of course, Frost isn't just referring to one type of apocalypse here. I don't think this poem is exclusively about the literal end of the Earth--it's also about a much more person apocalypse. On one level, you could interpret the poem as anti-war: the fire is the war and death around us, which will destroy us if we don't find a way to make peace. It could also be a humanitarian poem, with the ice representing apathy towards suffering, which will eventually destroy us all.

But I think the most profound level of this poem is its meaning on a personal level. The poem functions here as a meditation on what destroys us: our lust, our desire, our greed and our hatred, our cruelty, our selfishness. It is just as frightening and dangerous to be cold as it is to be hot.

However you read this poem, there's something chilling and unsettling going on here. Robert Frost has found that part of human nature we most fear, latched onto it, and set it all before us in poetic form.

Everyone knows Frost is a poet. One of my English professors would probably tell me to call him a Poet, but that's a story for another time. Today I've also discovered what I think is a brilliant poem from someone who does not consider him or herself a poet at all--or does (s)he? Read Steve Site's poem and decide for yourself.