Favorite Poem

The Bat by Theodore Roethke

By day the bat is cousin to the mouse
He likes the attic of an aging house.

His fingers make a hat about his head
His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.

He loops in crazy figures half the night
Among the trees that face the corner light.

But when he brushes up against a screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:

For something is amiss or out of place
When mice with wings can wear a human face.

When I was a young boy, the house I grew up in had a big old attic that was home to numerous bats. On occasions I would have the chance to see them hanging lifeless in the rafters and then at night, flying around dipping and diving until finding their freedom. This particular poem personifies the little brown bat, giving him a hat on his head, fingers, and a human face. The imagery portrayed in the poem takes me back to my childhood where an occasional encounter with the bat was exciting and pleasurable to remember. The poem has a nice rhythm and rhyme, easy to read and touches on a subject that Mr. Roethke and I have in common, that being nature. -RJR

The Geranium

When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,

She looked so limp and bedraggled,

So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,

Or a wizened aster in late September,

I brought her back in again

For a new routine--

Vitamins, water, and whatever

Sustenance seemed sensible

At the time: she'd lived

So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,

Her shriveled petals falling

On the faded carpet, the stale

Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.

(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)

The things she endured!--

The dumb dames shrieking half the night

Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,

Me breathing booze at her,

She leaning out of her pot toward the window.

Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me--

And that was scary--

So when that snuffling cretin of a maid

Threw her, pot and all, into the trash-can,

I said nothing.

But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,

I was that lonely.

Roethke personified this particular geranium by calling it “she” and giving it personality calling her “foolish and trusting.” That she had survived for so long on “gin, bobby pins, half-smoked cigars, and dead beer.” Over the years Roethke had developed a relationship with this flower. He loved her so much that he could not bare to throw her out, even though she looked near death. Determined to bring this flower back to life, Roethke brought the potted plant back inside for some intensive care. He would talk to the flower and he says “she seemed almost to hear me.” This scared him enough to allow his housekeeper to throw her out. Roethke’s depression is reflected in this poem as it seems to be living through the idea that he can save this flower from death. In the end, when he does not succeed he is so upset that he fired “the presumptuous hag the next week.”-MSM

Child on Top of the Greenhouse

The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,

The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,

Up through the streaked glass, flashing with the sunlight,

A few white clouds all rushing eastward,

A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,

And everyone, everyone pointing and shouting!

This is one of my favorite poems by Theodore Roethke. This poem captures his childhood during which he explored the many greenhouses owned by his father. His exploration, love of nature and mischievous behavior reminds me of my childhood and sparks the very memories and events that were the most influential on my childhood. “Child on Top of the Greenhouse” contains an array of vivid imagery in which he forces the reader to experience the thrills and excitement of climbing atop a greenhouse. Besides the use of imagery, Roethke uses similes to help describe the spectacular visuals he experienced. My favorite line, “The half-grown chrysanthemums starring up like accusers”, incorporates both a simile and a personification. He compares this perennial plant (chrysanthemum) to that of an array of accusers, heads all turned and staring at the guilty. -CDB