Today is the birthday of American poet Theodore Roethke. He wrote some incredibly resonant short poems, including My Papa's Waltz (← this is Roethke reading it) and Root Cellar. Here is another that might be thought of as a companion piece to Root Cellar.
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Cuttings-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Dark enough for ya? If ever there was a description of the process that is spring (along with Root Cellar), this is it.
best,
Don
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6 comments:
love the "sheath-wet" ending.
Charles:
That certainly brings it home, in so many senses of the word.
Don
those are great poems, but i especially like "cuttings." it definitely turns things on their head.
Yes, there is something about "Cuttings:" a smell you can taste ...
Don
Roethke is one of my favorite poets. Instead of celebrating his birthday, I usually celebrate the day of the first occurrence of his mental condition. That's because it changed him, for better or for worse, and it made life and writing such a challenge for him, but he carried on. Here is last year's tribute. I'm not sure what I'll do this year. http://theletterproject.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/special-delivery-35-36-37-38/
Great idea, nice post. Could there be anything more Buddhist:
“We think by feeling. What is there to know?” –Theodore Roethke
Don
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