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| Robert Frost |
There are four writers that have contributed to the ink that transform into words, whenever I use the quill—figuratively, of course: in this beatnik-age; gratefully, my hands will no longer get tainted—because of the advent of the ever reliable computer/laptop keyboard. Humorously, I am reminded yet again, that—literally, my brother pointed out to me that, technically, I should be referred to—as a typist rather than a writer.
Anyway, they are:
First: my Father; second, Edgar Allan Poe; third, Mark Twain; and the fourth, Robert Frost.
The poem, "The Road Not Taken", literally, caught me off guard, and yet, metaphorically, set me back on the right track.
An accidental paradigm shift. An error that corrected my path. A poem that made me understand more profoundly and most succinctly—the writer's craft and the passion for our noble profession.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Wikipedia sheds light on the often misinterpreted iconic poem, "in 1961, Frost commented that "The Road Not Taken" is "a tricky poem, very tricky", implying that people generally misinterpret this poem as evidence of the benefit of free thinking and not following the crowd, while Frost's intention was to comment about indecision and people finding meaning in inconsequential decisions."
Mr. Frost having said that, I will not say or write that I am an accidental writer. More so, I will do no more sour graping that I did not become a singer. Most fatefully, to be explicit without a dash of euphemism, I claim my birthright and resolve as a destined writer.
photo credit: Wikipedia
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