A Response to Thoedore Roethke's "Prayer"

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My poetic reply to Theodore Roethke's "Prayer" attempts to infuse my understanding of Roethke's words with my personal attitude about the poem's theme, which I interpreted rather literally as an aging man's request to retain sight. While composing this poem, I considered other works by the author particularly "Epidermal Macabre" in which Roethke expresses intense feelings of disgust for the physical body.

Prayer
By Theodore Roethke

 

If I must of my Senses lose,

I pray Thee, Lord, that I may choose

Which of the Five I shall retain

Before Oblivion clouds the brain.

My Tongue is generations dead,

My Nose defiles a comely Head;

For hearkening to carnal evils

My Ears have been the very devil's.

And some have held the Eye to be

The instrument of lechery,

More furtive than the Hand in low

And vicious venery--Not so!

Its rape is gentle, never more

Violent than a metaphor.

In truth, the Eye's the abettor of

The holiest platonic love:

Lip, Breast and Thigh cannot possess

So singular a blessedness.

Therefore, O Lord, let me preserve

The Sense that does so fitly serve,

Take Tongue and Ear--all else I have--

Let Light attend me to the grave!

 

Sense of Time

By April Minerd
 

Given a choice of merely one

Sense to serve my numbered days. None

Other than Touch would be enough.

Perhaps Sight indeed might see another through,

But if I may, I'd request a humbled hand--

Neither vile nor vicious in my command.

Grant me, O Lord, this singular condition

That I might forget this languished face. Aggravation, Aggravation! 

Locks of Gray now shadow these ears

Parodying sound from since past years.

Take the noise that interrupts present thought.

Leave instead a caress, an embrace, a faculty sought.

Age came swift, introducing a wrinkly Nose--

Grandmother's trait I'd deliberately dispose.

Smell now dull and dank from exhausted time

And this Tongue amiss pronouncing my rhyme:

What bitter words it chooses to announce.

So, remove it with the others I denounce...

Leave me to my memories and a stroke atop this weary head,

As I draw nearer a final resting bed.

Other Interpretive Projects

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