Pulitzer Prize winner honored by WMHS Students
Maine’s greatest poet, Edwin Robinson (1869-1935), honored by WMHS students at the historic Alna Meetinghouse built in 1789.
Spencer Smith-Pinkham, a WMHS American History student shared, “My favorite poem was Children Of The Dark; it has a deeper meaning behind it and you really must read it over a few times to start to understand what the deeper meaning truly is. The poem is not speaking about him but of him and when you realize that you can’t truly see his past and his struggles during his youth.”
Edwin A. Robinson born in Alna, Maine is arguably the most impactful American poet in the twentieth century, winning three Pulitzer Prizes in Poetry in 1922, 1925, and 1927. His work ushered in modern poetry, continues to resonate with readers today for its psychological realism and exploration of human nature.
Gavin Keane’s favorite Robinson poem was The World because of the wording and messaging, “My favorite two lines were "Some say't were better when chaos hurled; And so't is what we are that makes for us; And so 't is what we are that makes for us.”
Edwin Arlington Robinson was elected a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1927. His poetry is often viewed as an important transition between the Romantic and Modern eras, both a portrayal of the tragedies of life and an optimistic view of humanity's courage.
Teagan Marr enjoyed, “How Annandale Went Out, is an amazing poem that shows what he is thinking and shows great emotion especially when he said. "You wouldn't hang me? I thought not." it gives the reader a scared shocked feeling.”
Robinson's poetry often focuses on individuals struggling with disillusionment, isolation, and the weight of societal expectations. His characters often drawn from small-town life in Maine, portrayed with a combination of somber reality and hopeful redemption.
David Vallierre picked Credo as his favorite poem showing a deep emotional struggle as his chosen poem.
"I cannot find my way: there is no star
In all the shrouded heavens anywhere;
And there is not a whisper in the air
Of any living voice but one so far
That I can hear it only as a bar
Of lost, imperial music, played when fair
And angel fingers wove, and unaware,
Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.
No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call,
For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears,
The black and awful chaos of the night;
For through it all—above, beyond it all—
I know the far sent message of the years,
I feel the coming glory of the light."
~Credo
