Poem of the month

selected by David Underdown

My Papa’s Waltz

by Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

The American poet Theodore Roethke (1908-63) grew up in Michigan in a German immigrant family. His father Ott, who died when Theodore was just fifteen, was a particularly important influence on his life. In this, his most widely anthologised poem, we see his characteristic blend of strong rhythm and rhyme combined with vivid imagery. My Papa’s Waltz first appeared in his second collection ‘The Lost Son and Other Poems’ published in 1948.