Seeing the snowman standing all alone
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.
The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare
A night of gnashings and enormous moan.
His tearful sight can hardly reach to where
The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes
Returns him such a god-forsaken stare
As outcast Adam gave to Paradise.
The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,
Having no wish to go inside and die.
Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.
Though frozen water is his element,
He melts enough to drop from one soft eye
A trickle of the purest rain, a tear
For the child at the bright pane surrounded by
Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.
“Boy at the Window” by Richard Wilbur
Oh, that dear boy at the window and the tender heart of the “man of snow” is enough to bring a tear to even the coldest of hearts. The “man of snow: in the poem touched by the caring of the little boy, but, the snowman in the picture has a look of terror. Armed. One can almost hear him panting in fear; can almost see his exhausted breath steaming out of his carrot nose. There is a sound, in the distance, nearing the snowman’s hiding spot behind an ancient tree.
Closer. Louder. Snow flying everywhere; a panic of flakes and ice and . . .
(The poem, of course, is by Richard Wilbur and is called Boy at the Window. The images are from a note card, purchased a few years ago at a local shop. They are by a local photographer, whose name I do not know, though I have seen the actual model of the snowman, once, two years ago, on a snowy street, not far from a perfectly plowed suburban drive. I would love to acknowledge the photographer if he or she should see this.)
Funny and sad and beautiful. The image reminds me of Edvard Munch’s, “The Scream.”
Now that you mention it, Teresa, it is rather like “The Scream”. Yikes!
What a wonderful poem. I have never heard it before, and it’s tremendously moving! You’re right about the snowman’s expression, although I didn’t immediately identify it that way, probably mostly hearing the sadness. One more little fact about my weather-sheltered life, Penny. I have never made a snow man! Isn’t that worth a sad poem, too? Every year as a child our church group went to a weekend “snow camp” up in the mountains, and we’d literally pray for snow. We often had some slush we thought was wonderful, and it was enough for some minor “tobogganing,” at times, and we did attempt to make snow people…nothing ever worthy of recognition came of it! Sometime I should talk about what it was like teaching preschoolers about winter with all the media that showed snow, sleet, rain, colors changing…and they were sitting at circle time in their shorts and flip flops! I loved this poem! I think this is the third or fourth poem from Wilbur that resonates with me…I need to learn a lot more about him!
Another poem that came my way via The Writer’s Almanac, just the other day. Snowmen are fun to make, especially with children. Even in the snow, they are so fanciful and I think snowmen bring out the child in us. There is a giant toboggan slide near here. It was built by the WPA during the Great Depression. It is no longer used for sledding (isn’t that sad?), but it is used by runners for training. Our Jennifer runs up and down the steps there. Oh, Debra, how cute that sounds trying to teach preschoolers about snow in California. You should write about it sometime. I need to learn more of Wilbur as well. I think I’ll start with the library.
A lovely poem, Penny. Though, just glancing at the picture, I was reminded of one of my favorite comic strips of all time. http://www.chase3000.com/userpages/calvinhobbes/
That perfect, Andra, and now I’ve spent time looking at all the cartoons. I’m easily distracted. Good think I’m not a snowwoman.
What a heart-rending poem and image!
They do tug at the heart strings, don’t they, Juliet.
Here we are with more snow than we have places to plow it, and you are hoping for rain. Take care.
A very haunting poem and your words at the bottom were just as poetic. I always had mixed feelings about snowmen. They’re so much fun to make and look at but then I inevitably become too attached.
Thank you, Janet. The sadness about snowmen is that we always know they will not last. To build one is to doom it. Still, snowmen (and women) always seem to bring the child out in folks.
I love the poem, but the poor snowman. I am worried about him. He looks so frightened.
Isn’t it a touching poem, Janet? I need to read more of Mr. Wilbur’s poetry. Poor snowman does look frightened, doesn’t he?
So lovely, and sad…reminds me of the timeless Raymond Briggs classic Snowman, and this last year, his new Snowman and the Snow Dog. The Snowman is always on our TV on Christmas day…. and that was before the grandchildren were born….now it sort of runs on a loop, when we are all dozing after lunch and the children need some quiet time. J.
It is rather like Snowman, isn’t it? You’re right, Janice, it is a timeless book. I will remember to play the Snowman at Christmastime, especially when we all need quiet time (with or without the children – ha).
A hauntingly sad poem perfectly illustrated by an extraordinary image. I loved this, Penny and so admire your ability to match word and image. We had years together in Britain where there wasn’t enough snow to make a good snowman, but the last few harder winters have given so many youngsters (and oldsters too) the chance to get creative with snow.
Thank you very much, Perpetua. Your kind words touch me.
This last snow was a snowman snow if there ever was one. Lawns were decorated with them all over the place. They are all melting now with the rain and rising temperatures. I love the creativity that abounds when snowmen start to grow. I think they bring the children out in many, don’t you?
it’s such a vivid picture, this poem, Penny, and so filled with compassion. Thank you: I had never heard it before.
I had not heard it until the other day, either, Kate. Now, I want to read more of Richard Wilbur’s poetry and prose.
You found perfect pictures to illustrate this lovely poem. I need to read more poetry.
Thank you, Sallie. I understand. I’ve been making a conscious effort to pick up poetry more.