Perhaps no person can be a poet, or even can enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind.
— Roethke
The great Theodore Roethke (1908-1963) was an influential American poet known for his introspective, nature-inspired poetry. He’s one of my go-to poets when life becomes a heavy, unnecessary burden. Whenever I leave the civilized world behind for a few days, I always carry Roethke’s poetry in my rucksack.
He’s a poet who wrote profoundly about the interplay between the “Self” and “Nature,” poems that attempted to coalesce the inner and outer worlds we inhabit. He reminds us that “Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.”
Roethke was also an amazing teacher, and his career spanned several institutions, including Michigan State College and the University of Washington.
One of his students once wrote:
“[Roethke] was probably the best poetry-writing teacher ever. That's impossible to prove and silly, but I had to say it just once in print. He was not intellectual in his approach in those days, though I think he changed later.
He was a dangerous teacher too. And the danger is a natural one for good poetry-writing teachers who are also good poets. Good poets have obsessive ears. They love certain sounds and not others. So they read aloud what they love, responding to their own obsessive needs in the poetry of others.”
Below is a lecture Roethke often delivered to his new class of creative writers. I hope you find this poetic wisdom as soul-nourising as I do.
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