In order to relate textual criticism to Frost’s poetry, I focused on the famous poem of “Design.” Frost worked on “Design” for more than ten years before publishing a copy. His first recorded manuscript dates back to 1912, when he sent a copy of “In White” to his friend, which appeared as follows:
A dented spider like a snow drop white
On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth–
Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight?–
Portent in little, assorted death and blight
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth?—
The beady spider, the flower like a froth,
And the moth carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The blue prunella every child’s delight.
What brought the kindred spider to that height?
(Make we no thesis of the miller’s plight.)
What but design of darkness and of night?
Design, design! Do I use the word aright?
Some people have speculated that Frost sent this letter because he wanted to put down a legitimate copy of the poem. Regardless, Frost made the deliberate choice not to publish this version. The final version—the version most commonly accepted today— appears for the first time in 1922. This is the version I recognize from our class book The Poetry of Robert Frost, which was edited by Edward Connery Lathem in 1969:
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth–
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth–
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?–
If design govern in a thing so small.
The editor of our book didn’t change the poem from its format in A Further Range, which was published in 1936, and after searching the web extensively, I couldn’t find another version of “Design” other than these two.
Unlike the work in textual criticism that we did with Emily Dickinson’s poems, if I were to attempt to analyze “Design,” I would not be dealing with the same flood of variations. Nevertheless, even in considering the simplified timeline of Frost’s two versions, I was confronted almost immediately with the essential question of textual criticism: which version of “Design” should serve as the copy-text? The majority of editors use the 1936 variation as the “true” form of the poem, the one that Frost intended. However, I wonder if there is a different way of thinking about Frost’s progression of ideas. What if “In White” served as the basic text, and “Design” was analyzed through the lens of “In White”? For example, Frost introduces in both poems the idea of a darker, evil-prone force, and he questions the reason behind such small details as the coincidence that “brought the kindred spider to that height” (a phrase used in both poems). The final disclaimer in the later poem— “If design govern in a thing so small”—seems even more significant when it is laid against the backdrop of “In White.” The early version does not rebuke the idea of a higher power meddling in trivial affairs as firmly as the later does. Instead, “In White” ends with a question—“Do I use the word aright?”—expressing only a sense hesitance and confusion. A devil’s advocate to analyzing various forms of poems in this manner would probably argue that Frost chose to publish one version and not the other; critics would argue that more emphasis should be placed on the published version. I can accept this point of view, but I do think considering the context of past versions is important to a complete understanding of a work.
While researching online, I found that when critics did compare the two versions of “Design”, the manner of their critique was alarming. The critics did not even pretend to assume a neutral standpoint, arguing that certain lines within “In White” were “weaker” than others in “Design”, or that certain images in the later version were simply “better” than those in the earlier version. I find this type of attitude incredibly disrespectful to the author. If the aim of textual criticism, as opposed to new criticism, is (most would argue) to emphasize authorial intent, then I think that taking any aspect of a poem—be it an image, word, or punctuation mark—as anything less than the intent of the author is a slippery slope. And though I suggested a reading of “Design” through the lens of “In White”, I think it is important to consider “In White” as an entity of its own. Yes, Frost decided not to publish this version, and yes, he revised it later on, but “In White” is still a poem, a solo work of art that should not be degraded by speculation on how it was improved or how it could have improved.
Bottom line: yikes, an editor has a really tough job.