Theodore Roethke - The Shape of the Fire lyrics

1 What's this? A dish for fat lips. Who says? A nameless stranger. Is he a bird or a tree? Not everyone can tell. Water recedes to the crying of spiders. An old scow bumps over black rocks. A cracked pod calls. Mother me out of here. What more will the bones allow? Will the sea give the wind s**? A toad folds into a stone. These flowers are all fangs. Comfort me, fury. Wake me, witch, we'll do the dance of rotten sticks. Shale loosens. Marl reaches into the field. Small birds pa** over water. Spirit, come near. This is only the edge of whiteness. I can't laugh at a procession of dogs. In the hour of ripeness, the tree is barren. The she-bear mopes under the hill. Mother, mother, stir from your cave of sorrow. A low mouth laps water. Weeds, weeds, how I love you. The arbour is cooler. Farewell, farewell, fond worm. The warm comes without sound. 2 Where's the eye? The eye's in the sty. The ear's not here Beneath the hair. When I took off my clothes To find a nose, There was only one shoe For the waltz of To, The pinch of Where. Time for the flat-headed man. I recognize that listener, Him with the platitudes and rubber doughnuts, Melting at the knees, a varicose horror. Hello, hello. My nerves knew you, dear boy. Have you come to unhinge my shadow? Last night I slept in the pits of a tongue. The silver fish ran in and out of my special bindings; I grew tired of the ritual of names and the a**istant keeper of the molluscs: Up over a viaduct I came, to the snakes and sticks of another winter, A two-legged dog hunting a new horizon of howls. The wind sharpened itself on a rock: A voice sang: Pleasure on ground Has no sound, Easily maddens The uneasy man. Who, careless, slips In coiling ooze Is trapped to the lips, Leaves more than shoes; Must pull off clothes To jerk like a frog On belly and nose From the s**ing bog. My meat eats me. Who waits at the gate? Mother of quartz, your words writhe into my ear. Renew the light, lewd whisper. 3 The wasp waits. The edge cannot eat the centre. The grape glistens. The path tells little to the serpent. An eye comes out of the wave. The journey from flesh is longest. A rose sways least. The redeemer comes a dark way. 4 Morning-fair, follow me further back Into that minnowy world of weeds and ditches, When the herons floated high over the white houses, And the little crabs slipped into silvery craters. When the sun for me glinted the sides of a sand grain. And my intent stretched over the buds at their first trembling. That air and shine: and the flicker's loud summer call: The bearded boards in the stream and the all of apples; The glad hen on the hill; and the trellis humming. d**h was not. I lived in a simple drowse: Hands and hair moved through a dream of wakening blossoms. Rain sweetened the cave and dove still called; The flowers leaned on themselves, the flowers in hollows; And love, love sang toward. 5 To have the whole air! The light, the full sun Coming down on the flowerheads, The tendrils turning, slowly, A slow snail-lifting, liquescent; To be by the rose Rising slowly out of its bed, Still as a child in its first loneliness; To see cyclamen veins become clearer in early sunlight, And mist lifting out of the brown cattails; To stare into the after-light, the glitter left on the lake's surface. When the sun has fallen behind a wooden island; To follow the drops sliding from a lifted oar, Held up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward; To know that light falls and fills, often without out knowing, As an opaque vase fills to the brim from a quick pouring, Fills and trembles at the edge yet does not flow over, Still holding and feeding the stem of the contained flower.