The Road Not Taken

I realized as I was going through my photo library today that I like to take pictures of roads. One of my favourite poems is The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. So, today’s post is a combination of two of my favourite things (and yes, the last picture is not of a road, but it was quite the journey to get to that view).

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;
Field near Lumsden, Saskatchewan, August 2013

Field near Lumsden, Saskatchewan, August 2013

Road to Hana, Maui, March 2011

Road to Hana, Maui, March 2011

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,
Castle Butte, Southern Saskatchewan, August 2013

Castle Butte, Southern Saskatchewan, August 2013

Gravel road near Eastend, Saskatchewan, July 2013

Gravel road near Eastend, Saskatchewan, July 2013

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.
View from Bald Butte, Cypress Hills, July 2013

View from Bald Butte, Cypress Hills, July 2013

Roada to Mount Edith Cavell, Jasper, Alberta, July 2012

Road to Mount Edith Cavell, Jasper, Alberta, July 2012

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.
On a zodiac, somewhere off the coast of British Columbia, June 2013

On a zodiac, somewhere off the coast of British Columbia, June 2013

three photos and a poem

I’m not a morning person. I don’t jump out of bed, raring to go.  I gain momentum as the day goes on and tend to get more done at night.  However, I was in Maui last winter and found it really easy to get up early in the morning and go to bed earlier than I normally do at home.  It’s easy to get up and go for a walk with views like these (the pictures were taken at Kaanapali Beach and the Royal Lahaina Resort).

“The Waking” by Theodore Roethke is one of my favourite poems and I thought it was appropriate to go with these photos.

Image

The Waking by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Image

Image

“The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm”

I had a hard time figuring out what I wanted to post tonight – it was a busy, interesting day.  I work in a library and today we took job action in our contract dispute with management.  Instead of going into detail about that, I’m going to share one of my favourite poems – this is the perfect description of getting lost in a book.

The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

Wallace Stevens