My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Rothke

“My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke is a short poem about a drunken father dancing with his small child. This poem could be interpreted in two ways: a drunk father scaring a small child, or a father who is doting on their small child. My first reading of this poem made me think how awful, a drunk father swinging his small son around in some sort of drunken dance that the child has no part being in nor wants to be a part of. After this feeling goes away and you read it a few more times you begin to ignore the heft of the first line:

 “The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy”

And just focus on the fact that a father is lovingly dancing with his child. I suppose the real meaning of this poem is what kind of a drunk the father was. I know some people who are not the most pleasant to be around after they have been drinking whiskey, but I also know some people who become big loving teddy bears after imbibing in a few shots of the stuff. If this father was the former type of drunk, I could see how this would be a terrifying experience for the child. However if the father was the latter type of drunk this could be a memory cherished by the child for a lifetime. I recall being at a family reunion when I was quite small and my father took me on the top of his shoes and taught me how to dance a little bit. I will not kid myself, I am aware that all of the adults were drinking during that party and depending on how late in the evening the dancing started some of them could have been quite drunk! But this is a memory I will not forget. I was sitting on his lap listening to the music, he let me have a sip of his beer, I hated it. He finished up his conversation and set me down on the ground while simultaneously taking my hands and lifting me so my feet were on top of his.

               

                I hope that this is the type of memory that Mr. Roethke was hoping to conjure up in the reader’s imagination, not of some type of drunken half brawl, half forced dance. If some of the words were changed slightly then this sunny memory could quickly turn into a dark memory one would soon hope to forget.

"Wild Nights - Wild Nights!" by Emily Dickinson

“Wild Nights – Wild Nights!” is a provocative poem written by Emily Dickinson. Emily Dickerson presumably wrote this poem while living under her father’s roof. “Wild Nights – Wild Nights” tells a story of a woman’s yearning for something that would probably not be smiled upon under her father’s roof. It speaks not only of physical loving but also romantic love.

“Futile – the Winds – to a Heart in port”

                This line to me reads as if she is in love with someone. Her heart is a ship docked in a port, and no matter how the winds blow her heart is not moving. The winds in this case may be thoughts of other people or other suitors coming to call on her.

“Done with the Compass – Done with the Chart!”

                This line can be perceived different ways. Sticking with my theme of romantic love this line can be deciphered as she no longer needs the tools of navigation to find love. She is docked in a port and does not plan on casting off and setting sail again. Her heart is with this person for the long haul. However, Dickerson has been thought to have lesbian romantic interests so this line may also refer to the fact that she is done with traditional navigation techniques and would like to shake things up a little bit by trying to sail in ways most others do not, especially at that time.

                Personally, I would like to believe that this is in fact a poem about romantic love and not solely erotic love. Romantic poetry is more enticing to me than erotic poetry. But either way this poem has deep meaning to the author and you can hear the feelings pour out of the words when it is read.

Behind Grandma's House by Gary Soto

                Behind Grandma’s House by Gary Soto tells the story of a young 10 year old hell raiser. Soto speaks like he was the most ornery kid on the block. Everybody knew that kid; the kid who was tough, the kid who wanted to be tough. This is the same kid who looking back could have been me or you; or possibly the kid who never grew out of it and is now behind bars.

               

At the end of the poem Soto’s grandmother comes out and offers to help young Soto.

“… ‘Let me help you.’ And punched me between the eyes.”

I am neither glad nor angry that his grandmother hit him. I know that as a child I probably could’ve used a few more punches between the eyes to keep me straight. Although he is being a menace to what seems like the entire neighborhood I am sympathetic to his attempts to be tough. People know the tough kid, people respect the tough kid, people fear the tough kid, and people love the tough kid. I am sure that these are the same thoughts that were going through the mind of little Gary at that time in his life. His grandmother however just saw a bad or misguided little kid. She showed him that he is not as tough as he thought he was. She put a little “fear of god” back into him. That punch spoke volumes: you are not invincible, you are not that tough. You can’t go around doing whatever you want to do without real consequences. I believe that this is an important lesson every child must learn. I do not think that every child should be punched in the face, but I think it needs to be made clear to children that they must respect others and the property of others in order to earn respect.

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden

                In the poem “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden a short story is told about what would seem a young boy who takes his father’s labors for granted. He speaks of his father waking up early on Sunday, just like every other day, to build a fire to warm the house so that the child, and presumably the rest of the family, does not have to get out of bed to a cold house.

“Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.”

                This opening stanza has some very descriptive adjectives that really make you think about how rough a life his father has. Blueback cold makes you think of when you are outside too long in the winter and your hands start to change color from lack of heat and circulation. Cracked hands that ache from labor in the weekday weather makes you think of a man working outside, in a manual labor job, working in the rain, wind, snow and the abundance of other elements. Personally, it reminds me of a few of my great-uncles who spent much of their lives in and around the salty waters of the New York bays and Atlantic Ocean. Their hands are rough, hard, and callused; their hands seem to be made of some sort of tree bark with cracks where it needs to bend. The final line is almost like a bomb dropping: No one ever thanks him. The word “ever” really stands out in this line; it seems like when reading this poem the reader must put emphasis on this word. But the father is tough; this sort of thing does not bother him. He just goes about business as usual. I envy men like this. Tougher than the elements and not expecting anything in return for the numerous things that they do to make the world a little bit of a better place for the rest of us.

               

I believe that unfortunately enough it is entirely too common for children to take the toils of their parents for granted. A lot of the time, children do not think anything of the small things that their parents do for them, they are a given, something would be wrong if these things were not done for them. While it is true that parents do have a responsibility to their children I believe that this is oft overdone. When children are not just provided for but pampered is when the problem develops. A child will get the thought that well why isn’t someone doing this for me, why isn’t someone making sure that I am comfortable. It is a fine line that parents must walk between providing for their children and doting on them. Also, I think it would be good for parents to explain to their children what work goes into providing for them; explaining the hours at work, the type of work, the lack of rest, and the feeling that something always needs to be done.

               

When I was small I did in fact take many things that my parents did for me for granted. But now that I am older and a little bit wiser I would like to think that I am much more appreciative for what they have done for me and continue to do for me.