Is this the most misunderstood poem in English literature?
#23—Almost everyone has heard at least part of it.
Welcome to Mind Flexing, your weekly thought expedition to everywhere and anywhere. Strap on your boots (or put your feet up), take a deep breath, and let’s get flexing.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
— excerpt from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, 1915.
For well over a hundred years, The Road Not Taken by American poet Robert Frost has bewitched its readers. Its ending must be one of the most referenced lines of poetry in the English language—travel memes can’t get enough of it. It evokes a romanticism about a life, celebrates being different, and bestows upon its reader an empowered sense of freedom and adventure; be yourself it proclaims, and reap the reward.
It really is the most wonderful poem, and the world has embraced it for everything it’s not. You see, the poem isn’t really about any of those things.
I first came to love The Road Not Taken half a lifetime ago, attracted to it, like most, for all the wrong reasons. I like to think I live life a little differently (don’t we all, ironically?), and I’ve always been attracted to unconventional paths (or no paths at all!). So in my younger years, having heard the above line referenced time and time again, I looked the poem up and read it. Suffice to say, I was a little confused. There were parts I didn’t understand—they didn’t mean what I wanted them to mean. Frost himself used to warn people:
“…you have to be careful of that one; it’s a tricky poem—very tricky.”1
Confused, I went in search of the backstory and found one that made the poem even more mysterious and wonderful. But before I share it with you, let’s read this work of enchantment.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
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.
Frost’s poem is one about procrastination and lament. It’s about what’s not there, the things we don’t experience through the inevitability of choice. A clue is in the title. It’s not called A road less traveled, the focus is entirely on The Road Not Taken. It’s a joke—albeit one that no one got—that Frost wrote for his good friend, English poet Edward Thomas. The two would often take walks together through the English countryside and Thomas would procrastinate over which path to take, generally lamenting that he should have taken the other. And all the while, there was beauty.
The funny thing is that when Frost sent the poem to Thomas, Thomas failed to see that it was poking fun at his habit. Thomas later wrote to Frost:
“I doubt if you can get anybody to see the fun of the thing without showing them and advising them which kind of laugh they are to turn on.”2
There are plenty of analyses that excavate deep into the meaning of this famous poem. I won’t blacken the leaves of those paths. Instead, I’ll offer you a line by line translation of the poem in Australian. I’ve chosen this language, for those who are familiar with it, because it lacks the romanticism and the beauty that have perhaps confused generations of readers. So put your boots on and let’s take a hike (this path is a little rough).
That other bloody road
The bush track came to a fork, You know, and I had to choose which one to take Because I couldn’t exactly split in two and go down both So I just stood there all day trying to figure out which bloody road was better And this one did a dogleg through the scrub so I couldn’t see where it went; In the end, I took the other one because it looked pretty bloody good too, Actually, it was better, yeah, 'Cause no bugger had trodden on that one for yonks; Erggh, but, actually, come to think of it, yeah, nah, Nah, they were both the same. Just looking at them again but No boots had been down either that day. Yeah, OK, I said, I'll come back for that first one later. Nah, mate, I didn’t even know where the bloody hell it went, Betcha I'll never see the likes of that fork again. Arrgghh, what the hell have I done? It’s a long walk down this track: I had two roads to choose from, and I— I chose this one, That other bloody road better not have been good.
And that’s the Australian translation. It doesn’t quite leave you feeling high, and for that, I apologise. For what it’s worth, it doesn’t matter. The world misunderstood Frost’s poem, and that’s OK. Make of it what you will; it’s poetry, after all, and it’s perfect.
What other poems have been completely misunderstood?
Have any others been as widely misinterpreted as this one? Please share them in the comments.
Things I’ve enjoyed on Substack this week:
Whale poo warfare—by Amie Pearce
I’ll have to tell this one to my three-year-old because she’s at the age where poo stories are just about the funniest things on the planet. Amie presents more than just a funny story though, it’s true, and it’s remarkably fascinating.
Granny Kettlebridge—by Tom Cox
Tom has kindly shared an excerpt from his freshly completed novel Everything Will Swallow You, due out in March. You’ll need to read it if you’re at all curious about what The Shagserpent Of Branscombe Mouth or The Loch Ness Bonkster might be.
Delayed Echoes: On Music and Misunderstanding
On the topic of misunderstanding, Maya has offered up a thoughtful essay on what it took to hear The Velvet Underground.
Gone bananas
On a side note, I was procrastinating last night about whether to change my brain logo to a banana. I’ve never felt the plain brain represented what I write about, despite the publication being called Mind Flexing. It just seemed too serious. The thing that had been stopping me was that I thought it might look a bit too Andy Warhol and The Velvet Underground & Nico coverish. After reading Maya’s story this morning, I have now chosen my road. It is, of course, my own banana, from my own fruit bowl, painted with my own water colours and not Andy Warholish in the least. And so, this is Mind Flexing…
Etymology Monday
And lastly, keep an eye out for Etymology Monday on Notes each, you guessed it, Monday. I’ll explore the origin of a new word each week.
Thank you for Mind Flexing with me. If you enjoyed this essay, please subscribe, comment, click the ❤️ button, or share it with someone who would appreciate it. I’ll be back next week. Until then, keep 💪.
I bet if they taught the Australian version in schools, more kids would be interested in poetry 😂
Nice comment David, thank you. It sure says a lot about humans that the line, "Good fences make good neighbours", is what resonates rather than the counterargument.