This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks,
Cut stems struggling to put down feet,
What saint strained so much,
Rose on such lopped limbs to a new life?
I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing,
In my veins, in my bones I feel it—
The small waters seeping upward,
The tight grains parting at last.
When sprouts break out,
Slippery as fish,
I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.
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Did you see the terrific poem about Roethke–“The Day After The Dean of Michigan State College Admits Him To Lansing Sparrow Hospital For Rest, A Naked Theodore Roethke Barricades Himself Behind A Hospital Mattress”–by Amy Newman in MISSOURI REVIEW? Here’s a link to an interview in which she discusses her new project, ON THIS DAY IN POETRY HISTORY: http://www.missourireview.com/archives/amy-newman-on-safari-in-the-serengeti-with-her-husband-kayo-anne-sexton-writes-letters-to-her-therapist/
And another to Lisa Russ Spaar’s commentary on two more such poems, both about Plath, from the CHRONICLE OF HIGHER EDUCATION: http://chronicle.com/blogs/brainstorm/mondays-poems-2-by-amy-newman/45027. Already intrigued by DEAR EDITOR, I covet the very idea of this fifth book–why didn’t I think of it first?!