Two Roads Diverged in a Wood, so We Bastardized a Poem
Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken is undoubtedly one of American poetry’s most recognizable pieces, if only for its final three lines:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
(ll. 18–20)
Like any work of art, though, The Road Not Taken is not one-dimensional; one considers the whole of the poem rather than just a few widowed lines and is immediately slapped with the realization that the common interpretation is wrong. Believe it or not, suburban moms the world over have only been making fools of themselves by sharing kitschy quoteblock graphics.
The poem wasn’t supposed to be a banal flag for the waving of individualists the world over — no, it had a more existential purpose: to emphasize that the act of choosing is inevitable and irrational, and that is a realization that all humans must either face or ignore.
In fact, it was a satirical piece… But we will not focus on that.
From the outset, Frost establishes a metaphor to represent the process of decision — he describes for readers a fork in a “yellow wood”, a forest in autumn time. Faced with this archetypal choice, the narrator stews in vacillation, “sorry that he could not travel both”.
He acknowledges that the nature of our world cannot relieve him from the malaise of indecision. In a remedial effort, he tries to make an educated decision via analysis, by “looking down [one of the paths] as far as he could”.
Just after that, he submits that one path happens to seem “as just as fair” as the other. Perhaps they are, in reality, indistinguishable… But! The narrator reaffirms his choice:
And having perhaps the better claim, / Because it was grassy and wanted wear
(ll. 7–8)
Yes, the path he decided on perhaps… no, must be better than the other. How else is he to feel secure in his choice?
Alas, again — backtracking! He makes plain his inner indecisiveness when by observing, with hindsight’s helping hand, that “Though as for that the passing there / Had worn them really about the same”. Well, which is it, narrator? Which one is the better path?
An important pattern makes itself clear (we will henceforth refer to this as the Pattern) — time and time again, the narrator will make a claim and, quickly afterwards, refute or otherwise think better of it. Keep sight of the Pattern.
The third stanza breaks in with yet another evisceration of the narrator’s choice justification:
“And both that morning equally lay / In leaves no step had trodden black.”
This is a postpartum admission that there was no genuine reason to choose one path over the other. Yes, as far as the reader (and even the narrator) can tell, the paths look about the same, and no value-judgement can be made regarding their popularity, their trodden-ness; it’s simply impossible. Don’t forget that this is taking in place in autumn, when falling leaves will constantly be re-laminating the path, making it difficult to tell just how traveled it is.
In response to the lack of certainty that nature can provide to the narrator — because, as we all know at heart, nature is utterly unconcerned about us — he tells himself that he‘ll just come back and take his first step upon the shunned path another day; he even sates his concerns with a reassurance (“ Oh, I kept the first for another day!”)…
But what good is a reassurance when you don’t stay true to it for even two lines?
“Yet knowing how way leads on to way, / I doubted if I should ever come back.”
Yes, that self-promise was utterly empty.
In the final stanza, the “two paths” metaphor finally melts away, the narrator “sighs” and paints a scene in the future, “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.
(ll. 18–20)
These lines illustrate a picturesque scene of learned elder imparting upon some youngsters a time-hardened piece of wisdom! But having thoroughly examined the poem, it should be clear this must be somewhat disingenuous, due to the Pattern, if absolutely nothing else. Really, why should we take anything here at face value?
This narrator is passing their leap of faith off as not a shot in the dark (as it really was), but rather a strong decision that they made, ignoring entirely all the vacillation that went into the process — a process which was futile by nature, due to the existential uncertainty we are all so plagued with.
He is putting up a strong façade, willing himself to believe that his decision was in the right. He tries his utmost to avoid the fate consigned to him by the oppressing push of the overarching Pattern, and he does succeed in tearing the focus away from the Pattern, but it cannot be willed out of existence! Nature will not reveal its mysteries to anyone.
Less Traveled or Not Taken?
If we are to have faith in the Pulitzer poet’s ability — if we are to trust that he bestowed an appropriate title upon this poem, we are faced with a fact: the title of this piece is “The Road Not Taken”, and not “The Road Less Traveled” as is phrased in the iconic set of platitudes the poem has become so known for.
“The Road Less Traveled” is so much more banal than “The Road Not Taken” — it asserts that there does exist a road that is clearly “less traveled”, thus allowing one to justify their decision by claiming it was the unique one, it was against the grain, it was an act of individualism.
Was it really?
The true title, “The Road Not Taken”, confronts, with all its sobriety, the idea that there will always exist a road not taken, and that out of two choices, there is no way of knowing which one was the correct decision — it is essentially impossible to apply any sort of objective quality to either road in Frost’s metaphor, and so it follows that contentment with one’s decision must be irrational if it to exist at all.
Man will peruse any opiate if it means avoiding an admission of the unknown, whether that opiate be religion, hedonism, simple façade, or willful misinterpretation of art.
All said, I think Frost was very wise in choosing “The Road Not Taken” as a title, even though it deviates from the phrasing used in the poem itself; really, this serves to strengthen the piece as it lends legitimacy to the Pattern present throughout it. The common, “feel-good” interpretation of this poem only reinforces its true theme that choice is uncomfortable, irrational and contingent upon forces outside of one’s control.
In our fervent desire to ignore the elephant of our existential condition, we’ve morphed the poem into something it absolutely is not. The most famous piece of American poetry is only so because we have bastardized it; we have altered it to quell our insecurities.
We’ve killed a great poem. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? It has bled to death under our self-assuring knives.
If you remain unconvinced, I should urge you to read Poetry Foundation’s article on the poem — unlike me, they provide you with objective evidence and not mere ramblings as to the poem’s intended meaning!
