A Poem for Spring
Cuttings
by Theodore Roethke
This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks,
Cut stems struggling to put down feet,
What saint strained so much,
Rose on such lopped limbs to a new life?
I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing,
In my veins, in my bones I feel it --
The small waters seeping upward,
The tight grains parting at last.
When sprouts break out,
Slippery as fish,
I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.
Comments
Fred, how swell it is, when I remember to come here & see what's on your mind/in your heart.
Roethke is one of my major dudes. And, using your word from the post before that one, I too "am so off stride these last few days"...but for different reasons.
Stuff I wrote the other day has propelled me into other people's pages, and it threatens to wear me out, wear me down, make me crabby and ridiculous, (and who wants to be that? not me, no sir!), when I suddenly remember that it need not be so.
I remember that when I listen to good music, look at the morning sky just before dawn, kiss Cody's ear while he's snoring, touch my sweetie's hair only lightly while she's sleeping--oh, you know, when I just remember to go to all the right, swell places, including your place. Thanks for your swellness. (yes, that's a word, or at least it should be, dammit). :)
Posted by: peggy | March 1, 2004 5:02 AM
More creepiness. Our music-duo friends whose CDs I've been recommending on my site have on their new CD an entire song cycle based on Theodore Roethke's poetry. So TR seems to be everyone these days...
Thanks for the poem: excellent choice.
Posted by: Lorianne | March 1, 2004 5:22 AM
I like Roethke too! My favorite is My Papa's Waltz.
Posted by: Amy | March 1, 2004 8:36 AM
And mine is: "I knew a woman, lovely in her bones..."
Posted by: trish | March 1, 2004 9:05 AM