Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Theodore Roethke - I Knew A Woman. Psychopaths, Poetry, Dylan and Three Girls' Tales from NPR in the Morning

It is nice to hear poetry in the morning. The one read this morning was so lovely--morning mists, glisten rain on the darkly cloudfilled sky. entire poem below.

If you have not been to the NPR webpage, you are missing a treasure trove.
 From the Books:  Girls Girls Girls: A Trio Of Epic Adventures

http://www.npr.org/2011/05/25/135952459/girls-girls-girls-a-trio-of-epic-adventures
 
My forte, The Psychopath! One of my most used researchers, Hare, who you've read on this blog previously, has a fun article: A Psychopath Walks Into A Room. Can You Tell?
 

http://www.npr.org/2011/05/21/136462824/a-psychopath-walks-into-a-room-can-you-tell?ps=cprs
 
  PS Bob Dylan turns 70-- listen here: http://www.npr.org/2011/05/24/136470340/cake-is-just-a-four-letter-word-dylan-turns-70
 


Theodore Roethke - I Knew A Woman

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 did we 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.)

large color art version here.

more T.R.

picture from this poetry blog:


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