The interpretation I heard and liked came from Howard Stern (not that one—he was a professor and poet) and was more or less repeated by Piper Chapman on the show Orange Is the New Black, viz.—the roads are the same (or at least there’s no way of knowing, at the moment of choosing, which is better or more traveled or less), a rational choice can’t be made, so the final stanza describes a future rationalization and romanticizing of the past choice. I recall Stern noting the self-important “I” ending a line and being repeated in that final stanza. On this reading, the poem is about the tragedy or absurdity of (at least some) major human choices, the pain of being but one traveler, of not knowing, of feeling the need to justify oneself (irrationally). But I’ve always wished for a slightly more hopeful reading—and been a little mystified by the “somewhere ages and ages hence” (where? Heaven? Hell?). The biographical backstory lends an interesting new dimension as I continue to live with the poem.
Thank you for this one. I've heard it quoted, generally with rolled eyes because so many consider it to be cliché at this point. The backstory is beautiful.
Now, I have a image in mind of looking back over our lives from a distance so as to see the wandering paths and branches we've taken to get where we are, like a silhouette of a tree's bare skeleton in winter. The backstory for this poem reminds me that we cannot know how short or long the path will be or when the next turn will come, so we best make the most of where we are. In any case, the shape and form of our path has beauty no matter which turning we take.
Yes, thank you for the story behind this poem. It adds a depth, and sense of heart-break to this poem that is so often seen, as you said, as a hymn to "cussed independence." It seems Edward Thomas took the road Frost didn't want him to take. I hope Thomas did it from conviction (or even "cussed independence") rather than suicide. Maybe Frost was being too indirect and should have been more of a war poet with the horror of combat at the end of one the roads. But then we wouldn't be able to give this poem all the interpretations that we give it...
Thanks from me, a poetry illiterate in my old age, for highlighting a poem for me (as I assume for most) is quite familiar. Of course, I never knew its background. Now I do.
Thank you for the story of this poem -- which I did not know. I did, however, several years ago have a memorable experience. Spending a fall weekend in upstate New York, my husband and I took a walk with our newly married daughter and her husband. It was a beautiful day and -- well -- we came to a place where two roads diverged in a yellow wood. I was able to quote the poem from memory to the kids -- probably getting some of it wrong but deeply moved by the words and the moment.
I don't know that it necessarily does either. I thought it was interesting --- having read this poem so many times throughout my life without knowing it --- and do think that although you can perfectly well read the poem without knowing the context (as probably most of us have done), that context might expand a renewed reading of it.
Really I just find Frost's and Thomas's friendship moving, especially the depth of Frost's feeling for his friend in his torment. To my mind, the knowledge of that deep sympathy lends a sense of generosity to the poem that I don't think I had fully perceived before. I wouldn't want to limit anybody's reading to "what the writer intended," because works of art have lives of their own, and accomplish things that the artist wasn't conscious of in the making. And readers of course bring their own minds, full of association and experience, to the things that they read, so that those things speak to the individual reader in singular ways. But again, I find this story both interesting and poignant, and it refreshes my own sense of what is for me, as for many people, an almost over-familiar poem.
I’ve struggled with this before: you enjoy something only to have the your personal interpretation that had meant so much at the time altered, and that can be painful. But it occurred to me some time back that knowing the “truth” or the “history” or the “original intent/meaning” to what you read or heard can exist very amiably alongside your own interpretation. It’s like you say, Sally, the text takes on a meaning that its author may not necessarily have had in their minds and the Muse will speak to you. When you read something and let it work, if you’re doing it “right,” it should become bigger, not smaller.
So appropriate for myself today as I head out to Frost Farm with friends, to see friends (and the co-author of this Substack, hopefully!) Thanks for the wonderful insight into this poem, Sally.
The interpretation I heard and liked came from Howard Stern (not that one—he was a professor and poet) and was more or less repeated by Piper Chapman on the show Orange Is the New Black, viz.—the roads are the same (or at least there’s no way of knowing, at the moment of choosing, which is better or more traveled or less), a rational choice can’t be made, so the final stanza describes a future rationalization and romanticizing of the past choice. I recall Stern noting the self-important “I” ending a line and being repeated in that final stanza. On this reading, the poem is about the tragedy or absurdity of (at least some) major human choices, the pain of being but one traveler, of not knowing, of feeling the need to justify oneself (irrationally). But I’ve always wished for a slightly more hopeful reading—and been a little mystified by the “somewhere ages and ages hence” (where? Heaven? Hell?). The biographical backstory lends an interesting new dimension as I continue to live with the poem.
Thank you for this one. I've heard it quoted, generally with rolled eyes because so many consider it to be cliché at this point. The backstory is beautiful.
Now, I have a image in mind of looking back over our lives from a distance so as to see the wandering paths and branches we've taken to get where we are, like a silhouette of a tree's bare skeleton in winter. The backstory for this poem reminds me that we cannot know how short or long the path will be or when the next turn will come, so we best make the most of where we are. In any case, the shape and form of our path has beauty no matter which turning we take.
Yes, thank you for the story behind this poem. It adds a depth, and sense of heart-break to this poem that is so often seen, as you said, as a hymn to "cussed independence." It seems Edward Thomas took the road Frost didn't want him to take. I hope Thomas did it from conviction (or even "cussed independence") rather than suicide. Maybe Frost was being too indirect and should have been more of a war poet with the horror of combat at the end of one the roads. But then we wouldn't be able to give this poem all the interpretations that we give it...
Thanks from me, a poetry illiterate in my old age, for highlighting a poem for me (as I assume for most) is quite familiar. Of course, I never knew its background. Now I do.
Thank you for the story of this poem -- which I did not know. I did, however, several years ago have a memorable experience. Spending a fall weekend in upstate New York, my husband and I took a walk with our newly married daughter and her husband. It was a beautiful day and -- well -- we came to a place where two roads diverged in a yellow wood. I was able to quote the poem from memory to the kids -- probably getting some of it wrong but deeply moved by the words and the moment.
I wonder, to what degree does the backstory of the poem help or hurt my reading? Should it be for me or for the poet or both?
I don't know that it necessarily does either. I thought it was interesting --- having read this poem so many times throughout my life without knowing it --- and do think that although you can perfectly well read the poem without knowing the context (as probably most of us have done), that context might expand a renewed reading of it.
Really I just find Frost's and Thomas's friendship moving, especially the depth of Frost's feeling for his friend in his torment. To my mind, the knowledge of that deep sympathy lends a sense of generosity to the poem that I don't think I had fully perceived before. I wouldn't want to limit anybody's reading to "what the writer intended," because works of art have lives of their own, and accomplish things that the artist wasn't conscious of in the making. And readers of course bring their own minds, full of association and experience, to the things that they read, so that those things speak to the individual reader in singular ways. But again, I find this story both interesting and poignant, and it refreshes my own sense of what is for me, as for many people, an almost over-familiar poem.
I’ve struggled with this before: you enjoy something only to have the your personal interpretation that had meant so much at the time altered, and that can be painful. But it occurred to me some time back that knowing the “truth” or the “history” or the “original intent/meaning” to what you read or heard can exist very amiably alongside your own interpretation. It’s like you say, Sally, the text takes on a meaning that its author may not necessarily have had in their minds and the Muse will speak to you. When you read something and let it work, if you’re doing it “right,” it should become bigger, not smaller.
What a lovely essay! It gives me a fine start to a day that will bring me, by a path often traveled, to a minor surgery.
I hope all goes well!
Thank you. It went well and I was back home 5-6 hours after leaving (the hospital is nearby). Recovery so far is, as expected, rapid.
Wonderful exploration of the poem.
So appropriate for myself today as I head out to Frost Farm with friends, to see friends (and the co-author of this Substack, hopefully!) Thanks for the wonderful insight into this poem, Sally.
Tell everybody hello for me!
I will! ❤️