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.
Theodore RoethkeRead
My Papa's Waltz: The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt.
Interpretation
This quote reflects the complex and bittersweet relationship between a father and son, highlighting both love and hardship.
In Theodore Roethke's 'My Papa's Waltz', the poem captures a childhood memory of a boy dancing with his father, evoking feelings of affection intertwined with the difficulties of a family life marked by struggle. The imagery of whiskey and a battered hand conveys both the intoxicating nature of love and the painful realities of existence, illustrating how cherished moments can coexist with challenges.
In practice
This quote could be used in a Father's Day speech to highlight the complexities of father-son relationships.
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.
Art is our defense against hysteria and death.
The indignity of it!-_x000D_ _x000D_ With everything blooming above me,_x000D_ _x000D_ Lilies, pale-pink cyclamen, roses,_x000D_ _x000D_ Whole fields lovely and inviolate,-_x000D_ _x000D_ Me down in the fetor of weeds,_x000D_ _x000D_ Crawling on all fours,_x000D_ _x000D_ Alive, in a slippery grave.
By daily dying, I have come to be.
The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.
The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are Nothing.
The natural term of the affection of the human animal for its offspring is six years.
You couldn't find two people more different than my mother and I. There are a thousand things about me that she fought against.
I was ravenous for my child and took to gorging myself in the boneyard, hoping that she might possibly meet me halfway, or just beyond, one night, if only for an instant—step back into her own bare feet, onto the wet grass or fallen leaves or snowy ground of the living Enon, so that we could share just one last human word.
People see I am a mother and head of a household. Today in Chile, one-third of households are run by women. They wake up, take the children to school, go to work. To them I am hope.
I have sometimes questioned the advice and direction I received from my parents and grandparents, but I never questioned the fact that they loved me. I learned that they were in a better position to know more about right and wrong than I did from my limited understanding and from my limited experience.
The central struggle of parenthood is to let our hopes for our children outweigh our fears.
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