Le whisky de ton haleine
Pourrait donner le vertige a un petit garcon;
Mais je perseverai comme la mort:
Une telle valse n'etait pas facile.
Nous dansames jusqu'au glissementdes casseroles
Des rayons de la cuisine;
La mine de ma mere
Ne pouvait cesser de renfrogner.
La main qui tenait mon poignet
Etait battue sur une jointure;
A chaque pas que tu manquais
Mon oreille droite frottait contre une boucle.
Tu tapais le tempo sur ma tete
D'une paume durcie de boue,
Puis tu me valsais au lit
Encore m'accrochant a ta chemise.
-1948.
-' My Papa's Waltz'. Theodore Roethke(1908-1963) .
-' Poetry Speaks', p.182.Editors: Elise Paschen and Rebekah Presson Mosby.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks for sharing this particular poem which reflects the trauma suffered by Theodore Roethke in his early life but that could not weaken his spirit. Thanks also for the elaborate Notes, Michael.
You offer some perceptive comments on the poem, and on my notes, which I think hard asbout. ' but that could not weaken his spirit' is nicely phrased. Thanks Rajnish.