Frost’s poems describing relatively ordinary scenes or events often conclude by raising much larger issues about the meaning of life and death and the nature of reality. Some of these poems, including the popular early poems “The Tuft of Flowers,” “Two Look at Two,” “The Onset,” or the excellent but little-known late lyric, “On the Heart’s Beginning to Cloud the Mind,” conclude by suggesting a positive answer—that all will somehow be well, and that man’s deepest fears are unjustified.
Yet as the critic Lionel Trilling pointed out in a famous speech, given at a dinner celebrating Frost’s eighty-fifth birthday, there is another side to Frost’s work which belies the easy confidence of those poems in which he assumes the guise of a kindly, reassuring old Yankee. “Neither Out Far nor In Deep,” like such other poems as “Design,” “Once by the Pacific,” “Home Burial,” and “Desert Places,” evokes the grimness and eventual emptiness of human existence without offering any consolation or grounds for hope. This kind of poem represents an entirely different side of Frost, an entirely different way of responding to those ultimate questions.
“Neither Out Far nor In Deep” was one of the poems cited by Trilling. At first glance its inclusion among the author’s grimmer works seems questionable. On the surface, the poem is little more than an amusing observation about an ordinary scene—people at beaches,...
(The entire section is 550 words.)