[Jim Moonan]

.
I came across this poem by Roethke yesterday. For me, it does pretty much everything a poem can do to lead me to a place that I have never been, yet nonetheless gives me a sense of deja vous.


Root Cellar

By Theodore Roethke

Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,
Shoots dangled and drooped,
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.
And what a congress of stinks!—
Roots ripe as old bait,
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,
Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

.....