Sunday, September 11, 2005
Born Slippy
It is 2 am and I am bursting with energy, as the cliche goes. The soundtrack to Trainspotting is going its assertive way as I sit here and think of the stuff that I could be doing besides stringing words together into coherency.There's a lot going through my mind and I know I'm in a manic mode right now. It happens every fall. It happens when I have many tasks to complete and I complete them all in record time.
It makes me think of Theodore Roethke for some odd reason.
You know he died while swimming in a suburban swimming pool.
Perhaps that will be my next anthologized Gooflerific poem:
Theodore Roethke, dead
He who wrote of the subtle
Growth and the heater knock
Achtung!
He who had the snow slowly
Ticking
And the headlights
Fading
He, admiring life but loving
Death
Who wrote the simple words
Of a whiskey's waltz.
Dead in a pool
A swimming pool
At
Something like that, anyway.
Boy, I think I know how Franz Schubert felt. ¶ 1:55 AM
Listen to this article
Comments:
1) I did not know that about ole Theodore. 2) I like the poem. 3) I approve of the poetic turn our blogs have taken. I'm all for the poetic turn.
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posted by middlebrow :
7:55 AM
-Oh yeah!-
The poetic turn is indeed good. Good it is.
Roethke was 55, by the way--not 58.
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posted by theorris :
8:06 AM
-Oh yeah!-
hi. that's a great late night album.
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posted by Kendra :
9:39 AM
-Oh yeah!-
Good poem. You and Kendra are on a poem kick. I'll have to add one to my blog.
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posted by Bitcherella :
4:07 PM
-Oh yeah!-
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