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The indignity of it!- With everything blooming above me, Lilies, pale-pink cyclamen, roses, Whole fields lovely and inviolate,- Me down in the fetor of weeds, Crawling on all fours, Alive, in a slippery grave.
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
Grave
Crawling
Graves
Weeds
Lovely
Slippery
Rose
Lilies
Fields
Roses
Inviolate
Alive
Pink
Fours
Everything
Weed
Indignity
Whole
Pale
Blooming
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I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.
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How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
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Live in a perpetual great astonishment.
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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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A mind too active is no mind at all.
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Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
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The self says, I am The heart says, I am less The spirit says, you are Nothing.
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How terrible the need for God.
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The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.
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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.
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When I go mad, I call my friends by phone: I am afraid they might think they're alone.
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Art is our defense against hysteria and death.
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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 visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.
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