i remember hearing this recording for the first time when i was about 21... i listened to it over and over, figuring out what it meant, and each time, i saw more and more images of what Roethke was trying to paint with his words. Later in life, i would learn what it was like to see this poem unfold with my own eyes. To be enamored with a woman, and to later feel the bitterness for the wanton ways of that constantly swaying, attention-grabbing body. Great great poem.
Powerful expression of complexity. But oh what a woman. Huh I am teaching this to my grade 10 English B class today. So I came checking and by no means disappointed 🎉tfs.
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them; Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one: The shapes a bright container can contain! Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, Or English poets who grew up on Greek (I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek). How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin, She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand; She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin; I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand; She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake, Coming behind her for her pretty sake (But what prodigious mowing we did make). Love likes a gander, and adores a goose: Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize; She played it quick, she played it light and loose; My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees; Her several parts could keep a pure repose, Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose (She moved in circles, and those circles moved). Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay: I’m martyr to a motion not my own; What’s freedom for? To know eternity. I swear she cast a shadow white as stone. But who would count eternity in days? These old bones live to learn her wanton ways: (I measure time by how a body sways).
That was indeed Theodore Roethke reading this poem. Not sure where the implication that it was a student comes from. This was released on Caedmon Records in 1972, "Theodore Roethke Reads His Poetry."
What we need is more people who specialize in the impossible.
Theodore Roethke
i remember hearing this recording for the first time when i was about 21... i listened to it over and over, figuring out what it meant, and each time, i saw more and more images of what Roethke was trying to paint with his words. Later in life, i would learn what it was like to see this poem unfold with my own eyes. To be enamored with a woman, and to later feel the bitterness for the wanton ways of that constantly swaying, attention-grabbing body. Great great poem.
it is always great to hear a piece in its author's voice. Thank you for posting this.
Roethke's genius is his ability to create motion with his words. Unlike any other.
Powerful expression of complexity. But oh what a woman. Huh
I am teaching this to my grade 10 English B class today. So I came checking and by no means disappointed 🎉tfs.
Cool, thanks for this video
i'm doing this poem for poetry out loud
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
What’s freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).
Thank you very much for publishing these very stirring and touching lyrics…
This was not Roethke
That was indeed Theodore Roethke reading this poem. Not sure where the implication that it was a student comes from. This was released on Caedmon Records in 1972, "Theodore Roethke Reads His Poetry."
Roethke sounds weird, I thought he sounded different.
Me too. But he approached how I wanted his voice to sound around “one hip quiver with a mobile nose”.
Well, I guess it wasn’t him after all!
Another writer who doesn't sound as I thought he would.
Robbi Nester it's not Roethke
Robbi Nester it's one of his students