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Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire

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
Bones
Fire
Pain
Lost
Like
Wanders
Wander

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What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
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By daily dying, I have come to be.
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All lovers live by longing, and endure: Summon a vision and declare it pure.
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The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.
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Who rise from flesh to spirit know the fall: The word outleaps the world, and light is all.
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I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.
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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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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 calledThe flowers leaned on themselves, the flowers in hollowsAnd love, love sang toward.
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I came to love, I came into my own.
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Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.
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Let others probe the mystery if they can.Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will -The right thing happens to the happy man.
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A mind too active is no mind at all.
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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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Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
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So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.
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The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.
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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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Time marks us while we are marking time.
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I have gone into the waste lonely places
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