…A cold paralyzing horror: a glimpse into the subhuman…the sickness of life beginning again: the exhausting awareness of every ache. What the hand does in reaching, a misery of awareness; loss of memory in small things; hatred of necessary routines; hatred but not fear of dark; watching the skin, the fingers; overeating; a full preoccupation with unnecessary tasks; weakness in the morning; fear of headlights; distrust of children; a tide of loss.
Theodore Roethke, notebooks (I didn’t know about these!)
At his death, Pulitzer-prize winning poet Theodore Roethke left behind 277 spiral notebooks full of poetry fragments, aphorisms, jokes, memos, journal entries, random phrases, bits of dialog, commentary, and fugitive miscellany. Within these notebooks, Roethke’s mind roved freely, moving from the practical to the transcendental, from the halting to the sublime. Fellow poet and colleague David Wagoner distilled these notebooks—twelve linear feet of bookshelf—into a wise and rollicking collection that shows Roethke to be one of the truly phenomenal creative sources in American poetry.