Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Early on a Frost-y mornin’, look away...


We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. --T. S. Eliot

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
-–The Eagles


The Roads Taken
by Robert Henry Brague, 1/26/2010

Three roads triverged in a mottled wood,
And I took all three, one at a time, because
Each one doubled back on itself, and at last
I found myself alone in the clearing,
Wond’ring how that happened, wond’ring what I
Had got myself into exactly, some sort of game
Apparently, from which there is no exit,
Just more of the same, ever more and more of
The same, over and over, ad infinitum.
“Ah, said my brain, “so this is how it is,
Thinking one is making progress, moving
along nicely, only to discover at end of day
That one is back at the starting point.
If ever I manage to extricate myself from
This labyrinthine maze I will never return.”
Someone will be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Three roads triverged in a wood, and I --
I took them all ’neath the puzzled sky,
And that has made not one whit of difference.

7 comments:

jinksy said...

Think it's called chasing your own tail...or in your case, maybe, tale?

Putz said...

the one road traveled was supposed to make all the differance, bob, oh well

Yorkshire Pudding said...

Great poem Sir Robert! It speaks to me of how people can be like hamsters - pounding on the wheel but ultimately getting nowhere.

Regarding the photo... I know Americans bought the old London Bridge and shipped it to Arizona but have you also bought up Spaghetti Junction? There will be absolute chaos just north of Birmingham (The English one).

Dr.John said...

Great poem for a cynic.

Anonymous said...

Nice piece! Considering the concept "It all works out whether you like it of not...", methinks that in order to truly smell the roses along the way, three roads traveled would be preferable to one...

rhymeswithplague said...

Thanks for all of your comments. I wrote this poem in a rather short time, meaning to parody Robert Frost by stating the opposite of his famous poem. I was somewhat surprised by its cynical tone, which Dr. John caught. Odd, as I do not think of myself as a cynical person. Anonymous's interpretation was positive: "It all works out whether you like it or not." My own was a bit more negative: "It never works out no matter what you do" (a sort of modern-day "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity" if you will). At least, that's how it struck me. That is not my philosophy, by the way.

Katherine said...

Lovely parody Robert.

One of my more pleasant experiences last time I was in the USA was to visit Robert Frost's farm in New Hampshire. He was a hopeless farmer, apparently, but the spot was delightful - all silvery birches and winding paths, and he loved it there. And so did I.