Best 106 of Theodore Roethke quotes - MyQuotes

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Theodore Roethke
By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Necessity starves on the stoop of invention.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

The damage of teaching: the constant contact with the undeveloped.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

A wave of Time hangs motionless on this particular shore. I notice a tree, arsenical grey in the light, or the slow Wheel of the stars, the Great Bear glittering colder than snow, And remember there was something else I was hoping for.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Is there a wisdom in objects? Few objects praise the Lord.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

A terrible violence of creation,A flash into the burning heart of the abominable;Yet if we wait, unafraid, beyond the fearful instant,The burning lake turns into a forest pool,The fire subsides into rings of water,A sunlit silence.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

But when I breath with the birds, The spirit of wrath becomes the spirit of blessings, And the dead begin from their dark to sing in my sleep.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

A mind too active is no mind at all.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing, In my veins, in my bones I feel it,- The small water seeping upward, The tight grains parting at last. When sprouts break out, Slippery as fish, I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Self-contemplation is a curse That makes an old confusion worse.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

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

By Anonym 16 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I do not laugh; I do not cry; I'm sweating out the will to die. My past is sliding down the drain; I soon will be myself again.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

The body and the soul know how to play In that dark world where gods have lost their way.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened pines; Odor of basswood upon a mountain slope, A scene beloved of bees; Silence of water above a sunken tree: The pure serene of memory of one man,- A ripple widening from a single stone Winding around the waters of the world.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Theodore Roethke

In a dark time, the eye begins to see.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Art is our defense against hysteria and death.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

God bless the roots! Body and soul are one.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Beginnings start without shade,Thinner than minnows.The live grass whirls with the sun,Feet run over the simple stones,There's time enough.Behold, in the lout's eye, love.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,By pulling off flesh from the living planet;As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I bleed my bones, their marrow to bestowUpon that God who knows what I would know.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

By Anonym 14 Sep

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.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

How terrible the need for God.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Love alters all. Unblood my instinct, love.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

May my silences become more accurate.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Theodore Roethke

It’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Theodore Roethke

The Geranium When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail, She looked so limp and bedraggled, So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle, Or a wizened aster in late September, I brought her back in again For a new routine - Vitamins, water, and whatever Sustenance seemed sensible At the time: she'd lived So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer, Her shriveled petals falling On the faded carpet, the stale Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves. (Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.) The things she endured!- The dumb dames shrieking half the night Or the two of us, alone, both seedy, Me breathing booze at her, She leaning out of her pot toward the window. Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me- And that was scary- So when that snuffling cretin of a maid Threw her, pot and all, into the trash-can, I said nothing. But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week, I was that lonely.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I think the dead are tender. Shall we kiss?--

By Anonym 17 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Love makes me naked; Propinquity's a harsh master; O the songs we hide singing to ourselves!

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Fear was my father, Father Fear. His look drained the stones.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

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.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

O Lord, may I never want to look good. O Jesus, may I always read it all: out loud and the very way it should be. May I never look at the other findings until I have come to my own true conclusions: May I care for the least of the young: and become aware of the one poem that each may have written; may I be aware of what each thing is, delighted with form, and wary of the false comparison; may I never use the word "brilliant.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

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.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

By Anonym 14 Sep

Theodore Roethke

My truths are all foreknown,This anguish self-revealed.I'm naked to the bone,With nakedness my shield.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Theodore Roethke

The Mistake He left his pants upon a chair: She was a widow, so she said: But he was apprehended, bare, By one who rose up from the dead.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Dolor I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils, Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight, All the misery of manilla folders and mucilage, Desolation in immaculate public places, Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard, The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher, Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma, Endless duplicaton of lives and objects. And I have seen dust from the walls of institutions, Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica, Sift, almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium, Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows, Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate gray standard faces.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Too much reality can be a dazzle, a surfeit;Too close immediacy an exhaustion

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Death was not. I lived in a simple drowse:Hands and hair moved through a dream of wakening blossoms.Rain sweetened the cave and the dove still called;The flowers leaned on themselves, the flowers in hollows;And love, love sang toward.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Loved heart, what can I say? When I was a lark, I sang; When I was a worm, I devoured. The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are nothing.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Theodore Roethke

I have come to a still, but not a deep center, A point outside the glittering current; My eyes stare at the bottom of a river, At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains, My mind moves in more than one place, In a country half-land, half-water. I am renewed by death, thought of my death, The dry scent of a dying garden in September, The wind fanning the ash of a low fire. What I love is near at hand, Always, in earth and air.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Child On Top Of A Greenhouse The wind billowing out the seat of my britches, My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty, The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers, Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight, A few white clouds all rushing eastward, A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses, And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!

By Anonym 16 Sep

Theodore Roethke

from The Auction I left my home with unencumbered will And all the rubbish of confusion sold.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Theodore Roethke

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.