Good morning Hank, it's Tuesday.
So earlier this morning, I was kayaking on the White River.
I came to an island that only exists when the water is low, so I had to choose which
stream to follow down.
I thought as I always do in these situations of Robert Frost's poem, the Road Not Taken.
You know, the one that ends in, "two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the
one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference."
So I followed the road that seemed the less obvious choice.
It turns out that it was the less obvious for a reason.
So Hank, the road not taken is an interesting poem because 1.
it's kind of responsible for the death of the person it was written for and 2.
what most people conclude from the poem is the exact opposite of what Robert Frost intended
to conclude.
And also, 3.
this dissonance points at something terrible about poetry I think Hank.
But let's start with 1 - that dead guy.
So Robert Frost was inspired to write this poem by the many walks he took with his friend,
the English poet, Edward Thomas.
Thomas was very obsessive and indecisive person, and every time they'd come to a fork in the
road, he wouldn't know which one to take.
You know, like how if you're in the English countryside and if you choose the wrong path,
you might get eaten by a lion.
But you can't know that until after you've made the choice.
I assume that there'd be lions in England, at least dandy lions.
In Frost's mind, the poem was gently mocking people who obsess over the importance of tiny,
little decisions, right?
But as often happens with people who are mocked too gently, Edward Thomas didn't get the joke
and took the poem very, very seriously.
And so even though Edward Thomas was too old to be expected to enlist, he went ahead and
took the road less travelled, joining the British army to fight in WII, where upon he
was promptly shot through the chest and killed.
Since then Hank, pretty much everyone, including me, has adopted Edward Thomas' interpretation
of the poem despite the fact that it, you know, killed him.
I think there's just something alluring about the idea choosing the less travelled is always
a good idea.
It would be very helpful if there was some overarching guideline, like "follow the path
that others don't."
Also, following the road less taken has the added advantage of making everyone feel like
a non-conformist, which is nice.
But of course, there are a bunch of problems.
For one thing, if everyone followed the road less travelled, it quickly becomes the road
more travelled.
Furthermore, there are many times when the road more travelled is more travelled for
a reason, because for instance, the road less travelled leads to a kayak unfriendly marsh.
Or because there's something kind of nice about having a spouse and two kids and a mini-van.
Anyways Hank, I've been thinking about this a lot because over at our podcast, Dear Hank
and John, we've been getting a lot of questions from listeners who are making huge life decisions,
you know, should I go into the military?
Which college should I attend?
Should I attend college at all?
As humans, we constantly have to make all these big, big decisions, with very limited
information.
Like Hank, we are both incredibly blessed to have great marriages and great spouses,
but I had no idea what I was agreeing to on my wedding day.
I thought I was saying, "I want to be in a romantic relationship with you for the rest
of my life."
I did not realize that I was also saying, "I want to be co-CEOs of a company that raises
children and mows lawns and stuff."
Anyways Hank, the other thing about Dear Hank and John is that I insist on beginning each
episode with a short poem.
And so in the last few weeks, we've had a bunch of discussions about poetry - whether
poetry matters, what poetry does, etc.
And I think we have the Road Not Taken as one answer about what poetry can do.
Because poetry is so often musical and rhythmic, it has a way of sticking in our heads, like
I memorized it almost by accident.
Frost thought that the poem was exploring how people experience choice making rather
than offering advice, but precisely because it sounds good Hank, it seems like good advice.
And even though I know it isn't good advice, at least not consistently, I suspect that
the next time I am facing a fork in the road or fork in the river, those iambic feet will
wander back into my mind.
And I will once again be biased, however minutely, toward the road less travelled.
I guess that's one example of how I think poetry can really matter in the real lives
of real people, Hank, and why I think that poets and readers alike need to be very careful
with language.
After all Hank, we don't want to end up like Edward Thomas, but we also don't want to end
up like the poet, who at least in a roundabout way, killed him.
Hank, I'll see you on Friday.