If it's Saturday, it must be the Weekly Poem—& indeed it is. If you checked in last week, you know that February is all Stevie Smith all the time as far as the Weekly Poem series goes.
Last week’s offering was “The Bereaved Swan,” a poem from Smith’s 1937 collection A Good Time Was Had By All; this week’s poem, “The Frog Prince,” is the title poem to a 1966 collection—so we’ve moved from the very beginning of Smith’s poetic career to a point quite near the end (she died in 1972). Interestingly, the poem again inhabits a fairy tale landscape, at least on the surface. However, while “The Bereaved Swan” delighted in language & humorous rhymes, the voice in “The Frog Prince” is considerably more matter-of-fact—tho the subject matter runs quite deep (certainly much deeper than “The Frog Prince” himself seems to realize). The italicized instances of heavenly give us a clue that “The Frog Prince” is not only about the illusions of romantic love—in typical Stevie Smith fashion, she also moves on to religious love & poses the same questions: what is this truth of this transformation we believe we await? & is our waiting, our belief in the story of transformation, fatuous. Should we be content, each of us, with our lot as frogs.
This will be a busy day on Robert Frost’s Banjo, because this afternoon (2:00 p.m. Mountain Standard Time) I’ll be posting a Sepia Saturday entry—with more of Dad’s Photos! Hope you can check back in then, but in the meantime, hope you enjoy this marvelous poem.
The Frog Prince
I am a frog
I live under a spell
I live at the bottom
Of a green well
And here I must wait
Until a maiden places me
On her royal pillow
And kisses me
In her father's palace.
The story is familiar
Everybody knows it well
But do other enchanted people feel as nervous
As I do? The stories do not tell,
Ask if they will be happier
When the changes come
As already they are fairly happy
In a frog's doom?
I have been a frog now
For a hundred years
And in all this time
I have not shed many tears,
I am happy, I like the life,
Can swim for many a mile
(When I have hopped to the river)
And am for ever agile.
And the quietness,
Yes, I like to be quiet
I am habituated
To a quiet life,
But always when I think these thoughts
As I sit in my well
Another thought comes to me and says:
It is part of the spell
To be happy
To work up contentment
To make much of being a frog
To fear disenchantment
Says, it will be heavenly
To be set free,
Cries, Heavenly the girl who disenchants
And the royal times, heavenly,
And I think it will be.
Come then, royal girl and royal times,
Come quickly,
I can be happy until you come
But I cannot be heavenly,
Only disenchanted people
Can be heavenly.
Stevie Smith