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The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.
Theodore Roethke
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Theodore Roethke
Age: 55 †
Born: 1908
Born: May 25
Died: 1963
Died: August 1
Poet
Teacher
Writer
Saginaw
Michigan
Back
Cat
Sauntering
Like
Stones
Trekking
Walking
Strolling
Along
Highway
Journey
Highways
Wind
Hiking
Walks
Sharp
Came
Wander
Mincing
More quotes by Theodore Roethke
How terrible the need for God.
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And soon a branch, part of a hidden scene,The leafy mind, that long was tightly furled,Will turn its private substance into green,And young shoots spread upon our inner world.
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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.
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I am overwhelmed by the beautiful disorder of poetry, the eternal virginity of words.
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A terrible violence of creation,A flash into the burning heart of the abominableYet 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.
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Long live the weeds that overwhelm My narrow vegetable realm! The bitter rock, the barren soil That force the son of man to toil All things unholy, marred by curse, The ugly of the universe.
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Love is not love until love's vulnerable.
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What falls away is always. And is near.
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You must believe: a poem is a holy thing - a good poem, that is. The poem, even a short time after being written, seems no miracle unwritten, it seems something beyond the capacity of the gods.
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Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire
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I came to love, I came into my own.
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I learn by going where I have to go.
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By daily dying, I have come to be.
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Live in a perpetual great astonishment.
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In a dark time, the eye begins to see / I meet my shadow in the deepening shade...Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
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Art is our defense against hysteria and death.
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A mind too active is no mind at all.
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I have gone into the waste lonely places
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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.
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A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.
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