In Honour of Scarlett

In Honour of Scarlett
Scarlett, you're a star!
Scarlett, you’re a star!

My neighbour’s granddaughter Scarlett was in her first Nativity play today. At only two, Miss Scarlett is an active, intelligent and verbal young lady who is a bit of a rascal as her Mum will surely attest. Today she played not one but two roles in the play: the Moon, and a Star.

So, in honour of Scarlett, I reproduce here Robert Frost’s deeply inspired poem, “Choose Something Like a Star.” The theme is our discomfort with not knowing everything and not being able to deal with things we don’t understand. But did Robert Frost predict the current Star System, where people live their lives vicariously through celebrities and their lives? Is that why we today “Choose Something Like a Star” and choose to live our lives through the lives of our stars?

This poem was set to music by Randall Thompson in Frostiana, a 7-part choral composition of some of Robert Frost’s works. The haunting harmonies in the beginning brilliantly illustrate the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing, while the beautiful major harmonies in the last stanza bring resolution to this inner conflict.

Frostiana is a fabulous choral piece, sung by choirs and vocal ensembles around the world. My friends and I sang it in high school and when we listened to it on You Tube recently we were all reduced to tears. But don’t cry, Scarlett, you’re a star!

O Star (the fairest one in sight)
O Star (the fairest one in sight)

Choose Something Like a Star
by Robert Frost – 1947

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud —
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says “I burn.”
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats’ Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

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