The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows.
We walk aware of what is far and close.
Here distance is familiar as a friend.
The feud we kept with space comes to an end.
How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
Theodore RoethkeMots clés growing-old infirmities
Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.
Theodore RoethkeMots clés art-haste
I long for the imperishable quiet at the heart
of form.
My Papa's Waltz:
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
Mots clés poetry
The stones were sharp,
The wind came at my back;
Walking along the highway,
Mincing like a cat.
Mots clés attitude wind walking cat highway mincing
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.
What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have........
.......
Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill.
~From "The Waking" by Theodore Roethke
Mots clés poetry
(I measure time by how a body sways.)
Theodore RoethkeBy daily dying, I have come to be.
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