The Diary Of A Nobody

Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken

Published: 1915

Theme:

"Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” is often interpreted as an anthem of individualism and nonconformity, seemingly encouraging readers to take the road less traveled. This interpretation has long been propagated through countless song lyrics, newspaper columns, and graduation speeches. But as Frost liked to warn his listeners, “You have to be careful of that one; it’s a tricky poem—very tricky.” In actuality, the two roads diverging in a yellow wood are “really about the same,” according to Frost, and are equally traveled and quite interchangeable." (theatlantic.com, 2018)

Poem:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo 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 thereHad worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally layIn 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 sighSomewhere 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. Credits: Robert Frost (1915), The Atlantic (2018)

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Charles Bukowski - Roll The Dice

Written: ca. 1970-1990

Published in: What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire (1999)

Theme:

“Roll the Dice” by Charles Bukowski is one of the most motivational poems in American History. During the 1950-60s people were headed on the path of being different. Whether that meant listening to different music or growing long hair, each poem is telling the people that if you are going to do something go all the way, or else there is no point in doing it. Being different is something that can not be done if you are not willing to go all the way. Bukowski makes a strong statement by saying “do it, do it, do it. do it.” This is one of the most powerful quotes from the poem, that showed people not to have fear, and to take the risk." (grade10americanpoetry.com, 2022)

Poem:

if you’re going to try, go all theway.otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all theway.this could mean losing girlfriends,wives, relatives, jobs andmaybe your mind.

go all the way.it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.it could mean freezing on apark bench.it could mean jail,it could mean derision,mockery,isolation.isolation is the gift,all the others are a test of yourendurance, ofhow much you really want todo it.and you’ll do itdespite rejection and the worst oddsand it will be better thananything elseyou can imagine.

if you’re going to try,go all the way.there is no other feeling likethat.you will be alone with the godsand the nights will flame withfire.

do it, do it, do it.do it.

all the wayall the way.

you will ride life straight toperfect laughter, itsthe only good fightthere is.

Credits: Charles Bukowski, 1999 What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

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Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Published: 1969, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Themes:

"Strong themes are present throughout "Caged Bird." Racist oppression, freedom against captivity, and joy versus grief are examples of themes. Through the picture of the two birds, one free and one imprisoned, Angelou weaves together all of these concepts in "Caged Bird."

The caged bird is an extended metaphor for the Black community in America and across the world. Angelou references the oppressive practices used by individuals in positions of authority, including physical, mental, and economic violence, that have affected millions of men, women, and children since the dawn of time.

Black men, women, and children see “through...bars” while the free bird sores in the sky. The bird sings from a place of sadness rather than joy to convey a broader history of sorrow." (source: poemanalysis.com, 2022)

Poem:

A free bird leapson the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current endsand dips his wingin the orange sun raysand dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalksdown his narrow cagecan seldom see throughhis bars of ragehis wings are clipped and his feet are tiedso he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breezeand the trade winds soft through the sighing treesand the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawnand he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

Credits: Angelou, Maya (1969). I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. New York: Random House

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Dragos Radu - Home

Written: 2022

Summary & Story:

Throughout my life, I had many moments where I missed my home. Not home in the sense of a birthplace, people or things that I've been closely acquainted with during my life, but home within, the altar within each of us. The place that always calls us back to ourselves, to inquire, to be curious. The place that is most meaningful to us as only by knowing it and not merely acknowledging it, can we get to know ourselves. This is a poem about that. I hope you enjoy it.

Poem:

There is a sun

I die to see again.

Not the sun that

Sets and rises,

But the one always up

And shining,

Illuminating all beings

From within.

The sun, which makes life move,

And energy flow,

Tirelessly in the soul.

I crave it so much

I crave it as a home.

Now the lights are off

And my soul is blinded

By the never-ending winter

Of the night.

There is calm,

But there’s no peace.

There is hope,

But there’s no light to guide it.

I miss the sun,

I miss its warmth and grace,

I miss my home.

There’s a bell ringing

In the night.

A state of alert

Established in the meadow

Where I sit dreaming

Of light and peace.

The sound breaks

My dreaming.

It awakens me

From a restless sleep,

That seemed endless at first.

As I open my eyes,

Light breaks in

So radiant, so powerful,

And with a rush of adrenaline

It stands me up,

Sun-gazing, filling every cell

Of my body with light,

Peace,

And ultimately freedom.

I now can hear the birds sing,

The caressing wind blowing

Softly through my hair,

The vibrant air of a new spring day.

I feel at home, and I feel safe.

I have always been.

I will always be,

Despite the depths and darkness of my dreams.

Once I open my eyes,

There will always be light,

There will always be sun.

There will always be peace

And I will always be home / I have a home waiting for me.

What is life if not just a walk in the dark,

Where one’s path is always lit up by the light of his soul.

Credits: Dragos Radu (2022, The Diary Of A Nobody)

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Anonymous St Swithun's Parishioner - The Messiah

Source: It was published in a parish newsletter of St Swithun's church.

Story:

Most of us are familiar with the words and music of the great Oratorio but Bill Jones of Golcar, a little village in the West Riding of Yorkshire, had never been to a performance and he tried to persuade a friend to go with him to the Huddersfield Town Hall to hear the famous Choral Society, but his friend refused. “Nay” he said “that sort ‘o music’s nowt in my line. I like a good comic song or a lively jig, but I reckon nowt to this sacred stuff as they call it. It’s beyond me. An’ another thing – there’1l be none of our sort there. It’1l be mostly religious folk and swells done up in boiled shirts and wimmen wi’ nowt much on. Nay, you go by theesen and then you can tell me all about it sometime”.

So Bill went by himself.

The next time the old pals met, the fo1lowing conversation took place. “Well cum on, how did you get on at Messiah?

“Ee well” said Bill – “It were fair champion. I would’na missed it for al’t tea in China. When I got there, Town Hall were crowded, it was chock full and I had a job to get a seat, and no wonder, it were all them singers – they took up half the gallery. There were a chap larkin’ about on the organ. He weren’t playing anythin’ in particular, just runnin’ his ‘ands up and down as if he was practising. Well after a while a lot of chaps came in carrying fiddles. Then.......they brought in the Messiah!

Wel1 – that’s what I took it to be. It were’t biggest instrument on the platform and it were covered in a big green bag. Any road, they took bag off it and then a bloke rubbed its belly wi’ a stick and you should have heard it groan. It were summat like the last expiring moments of a dying cow. I were just thinking of going when a little chap came on, all dolled up in a white waistcoat and wi’ a flower in his buttonhole and everything went dead quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. He ‘ad a stick in his ‘and and he started waving it about and all the singers stared at him. I reckon they was wondering what were the matter we ‘im.

Then they started to sing and they hadn’t been going long before they were fighting like cats. I reckon he should have walloped one or two of them with that stick. First one side said they were King o’ Glory, then the t’other side said they were, and they went at it hammer and tongs. But it fizzled out, so I’ve no idea which side won. Then there was a bit of bother about some sheep that was lost. I don’t know who they belonged to but one lot of singers must have been very fond of mutton ‘cos they kept on singing “All we like sheep “. I couldn’t help saying to the chap sitting next to me that sheep’s alright in moderation but I like a bit of beef meself and he looked daggers at me and said “Shush!!” – so I shushed.

Then a bloke stood up and sang by hisself. They must have been his sheep ‘cos he said every mountain and hill should be made low and I thought they’d be sure to find them. Then the organist started banging, and the rest of the band was just as mad, ‘cos the way they were sawing them fiddles I thought they were going to go through ’em. I bet everyone was glad when that chap sat down.

A lot of wimmen stood up after that and all of ’em looked as is they were well – getting on a bit. Some of ’em must a bin 65 if they were a day. They sang, “Unto us a child is born” and the chaps shouted back “Wonderful”, a

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