Perfect Trad line of poetry

[SOS]

As an engineer, I'm not really into poetry, but on my teenaged daughter's shirt from her Appalachian Trail backpacking trip this summer they had a line from Robert Frost's "A Road Not Taken" that sums up traditional hunting to a tee....


"Two roads diverged in a wood and I--
I took the road less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference"


I had always heard reference to "a road less traveled" but don't believe I ever read it.  Good stuff.  Here's a road in the wood less traveled.....

[vermonster13]

If you ever want to visit the place it was written, give me a shout.

[SOS]

Vermonster,

would like to take you up on it some day.  The northeast is the one part of the country I've never visited.

[vermonster13]

His farm is about a half hour from my house.

[vermonster13]

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.

By Robert Frost

[Irish]

[BamBooBender]

SOS, you are right that does describe traditional archery to a tee.    

[DaleinOhio]

This Tradganger wrote his Masters thesis on Frost.  This poem is one of the greats, but SO many of his other poems are even better.  If you like this one, find yourself a book of Frost's work.  His poetry is easily accessible and enjoyble by those who think they don't like poetry.  His subject matter is oftentimes close to the land.  

If you ever want to hear more about how Frost's use of iambic pentameter and why how he does it is fairly unique in American poetry, let me know.  I wrote waaay too many pages on that kind of thing.

Vermonster...I've ALWAYS wanted to get up to Derry and see his farm...it's on my list of things to do before I die.

[BamBooBender]

"iambic pentameter" that reminds me of college english. Now my head hurts. lol j/k

[vermonster13]

The Robert Frost hiking trail is pretty cool. All of the native plants are labeled along the walkway and there are monuments with facts from his life and different works of his. Good bear and deer country also as well as some moose.

[Larry247]

The moose part sounds interesting...I wouldn't mind haveing a look around up there sometime.

[NightHawk]

where's the refference to jail?, momma , trains and cryin in the rain?  

[Larry247]

[BamBooBender]

My comment was not intended to be demeaning to poetry. It's just that I haven't heard the term "iambic pentameter" since I was in school, and I like to make wise cracks(sorry, hard to resist at times). Being a romantic, I actually like poetry, especially the economy of words and the emotions it can bring up(not to mention the talent it requires). Just thought I'd clear that up, cause it's hard to gauge intent on the internet a lot of times.

-James

[Smilingg]

Nighthawk--

"I was drunk the day my Mom got out of prison
And I went to pick her up in the rain
But before I could get to the station in my
Pick-up truck
She got runned over by a damned ole train..."

(From that timeless poem, You Don't Have To Call Me Darlin, Darlin )

[Benha]

There was a Tradganger from Nantucket...aw never mind.

[Roger Norris]

...who's string was so taught he could pluck it...

 

[Scott G]

a buck he did spy, his arrow let fly,
but in the end the buck ducked it?

[DaleinOhio]

BamBooBender,

No offense taken.  MY head still hurts when I try to explicate a poem to see just what meter and form the poet is using.  It's not easy stuff.  I hope that what makes me a good college teacher is that I remember how difficult the stuff is.

[George D. Stout]

This trail is just a mile from me 8^):  It is a real place, and I wrote the poem after walking the trail above the little town of Manns Choice.  Davy Lewis was a real outlaw in these parts.


"Ode to A Mountain Trail"
George D. Stout

A bed of leaves on limestone trail amidst the Allegheny wood,

Meanders twixt the hardwood trees where outlaw Davy Lewis stood;

To watch the Forbes Road's western path for stagecoach filled with travelers;

In route from eastern villages way back among the early years.


I walk alone, along this path where time has hid its mysteries,

And think about the here and now, and contemplate priorities.

What is this bent we all pursue, why do we hurry here and there;

We get there just to turn around and search another new somewhere.


Upon this road that few have seen there are no lights or blinking signs;

Just limestone benches, empty seats that host green moss and creeping vines.

The solitude speaks volumes to those travelers who wish to hear,

The whispers of those days gone by that drift through time from yesteryear.


Yet yesteryear is not so far when traveling upon this trail,

For distances within the mind are simply hid beneath a veil;

Of circumstance and rationale that holds us to the present time;

And can be traveled easily through thoughtful prose and seamless rhyme.


My longbow carried at my side I look behind me as I walk,

And glimpse a shadow moving there with breechclout, spear and tomahawk.

A shawl of buckskin on its back with fringe that hangs in strips of brown;

It disappears among the trees like noiseless flows of thistle down.


I sit upon the rock-strewn bank and listen closely to the sound,

Of teamsters bringing oak bark shards to stock the tannery south of town;

Their horse's hooves reverberate upon the dirt road near the foot,

Descending down from Glade Pike Road, emitting clouds of brown bark soot.


I once again take up the trail a simple archer with his bow,

And think of those who walked before in autumn leaves and winter snow.

I hear their laughter and their cries, their fight to live from day to day;

With nothing granted from the skies, and nature's gifts their only pay.


I contemplate how far we've come to this relatively easy life,

And say a prayer of thanks to those whose days were filled with stress and strife.

And though old times will once again be gone when I walk home today;

There is no doubt that history is just a mountain trail away.