text: I wonder how long it will be before Frost's literary stock is devalued as much as it deserves to be. These are trite and banal poems that do not ring true or sincere. Frost seems distant from both his poems and the reader. What he has to say is obvious and unoriginal. How he says it is on the level of a hallmark greeting card at its best; at its worst, it is no better than a limerick. Posthumous revelations about his horrific cruelty to others and his shrewd creation/manipulation of his celebrity image as the New England farmer-poet only confirm that there was something seriously wrong with this man and his poems that an earlier generation missed. How earlier generations could find genius in such obvious observations is astounding.
  Bad poetry from a twisted man
  