My Papa’s Waltz Shoes
Manolo says, yes, these Finnish dancing shoes are silly, but the Manolo loves them, for they remind him of one of his favorite poems, Theodore Roethke’s My Papa’s Waltz.
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.
And now you must click on this link and listen to the poet read it.
P.S. From the Manolo internet friend Rachel and from the Manolo’s friends at the Boing Boing
October 18th, 2007 at 2:49 pm
The Manolo loves the poetry about hellish child abuse? I wonder if the Manolo has read this poem very closely at all.
October 18th, 2007 at 3:03 pm
“Hellish child abuse”?
Nonsense! This is the exact sort of playful roughhousing the Manolo’s own beloved father would engage in.
One must remember that men of the earlier generations had notions of masculinity that only allowed the expression of paternal affection in these sorts of ways, wrestling, shadow-boxing, rough-housing.
You did not hug the boy child, instead you grabbed him up and danced him around the kitchen, shaking the pots and making the mother nervous.
And for the child, such things were exhilarating, the little bit scary, great fun, and always to be remembered fondly.
October 18th, 2007 at 3:29 pm
Obviously, the poem can be read either way. The author claims that the poem is not about child abuse, but I think that the rough language and images are a coincidence too large to be ignored. Well, whatever. Good thing this isn’t a blog about poetry, Manolo.
October 18th, 2007 at 3:30 pm
My dear Manolo, wonderful shoes! At least, a little bit more confortable than these ones:
http://www.adn.es/cultura/20071015/PGL-0003-Fetichismo-pies/.html
Have you seen the gorgeous impossible Louboutin’s?
L.
October 18th, 2007 at 3:43 pm
Those shoes speak volumes. You could almost frame them. Just that photo alone is very moving. What would any of us who have lost a parent give to be able to wear those shoes again? I am in total agreement with the Manolo’s interpretation of the poem. Calling it child abuse takes political correctness to a ridiculous level. It does not refer to “sensitive new age guys”. It speaks of a working class father’s love expressed in the only way he knew how, through joy and physical contact. At least this father cared enough to “play” with his child. I guess today’s father would work extra late, and buy his son a gameboy to show him that he cared. How sadly sterile.
October 18th, 2007 at 3:46 pm
Ohmigosh, the poem is NOT about child abuse - just enjoy the feelings of exhilaration and love that permeate the words. I did just this sort of thing with my father, and the memories are precious. This is, if nothing else, a love poem from a child to his father - enjoy and don’t over analyze. (And I love the shoes, too!)
October 18th, 2007 at 4:29 pm
Ned Rorem set that poem for singer and piano - you should check it out. Pretty interesting.
October 18th, 2007 at 5:50 pm
This is so weird! We had the exact same argument about this same poem on Race Relations at About.
The English Lit professor was 100% against the child abuse theory, btw.
October 18th, 2007 at 6:26 pm
It’s a wonderful poem. The Manolo has good taste in poetry too!
October 18th, 2007 at 6:30 pm
Even if one misinterpreted the rest of the poem, the use of the word “romped” blows the “child abuse” theory out of the water:
romp
1 : to run or play in a lively, carefree, or boisterous manner
2 : to move or proceed in a brisk, easy, or playful manner
http://www.m-w.com
October 18th, 2007 at 8:03 pm
It IS a wonderful poem, & the last line expresses so eloquently the way a child thrives on parental attention. It is not child abuse at all, it is a romp, as Cat explains so well, a romp with an imperfect but beloved father.
It makes me think of my freshly-bathed little boys yawning toothpaste breath as they snuggled close in their fuzzy pj’s as we read a story together & then heard their father clomping up the stairs, saying basso profundo, “Okay, Okay, now who’s ready for a kaboom?” Needless to say, they always were.
“Kaboom” is when the dad lifts the little one up into the air & then drops the child bottom first down onto the fluffy comforters & pillows. Smiles & sweet dreams ensue.
October 18th, 2007 at 9:06 pm
Thank you for such an evocative, beautiful image of the two sets of shoes and for the poem as well. I had never read it before and frankly it takes my breath away to think that people could consider this to be about child abuse.
October 18th, 2007 at 10:21 pm
I loved the shoes and, while the images are a far cry from my own waltzing-with-Papa memories, the poem as well. Thank you for sharing both.
October 19th, 2007 at 12:21 am
Thank you for this beautiful and sweet post, Manolo.
And, thank you for saying “roughhouse”.
Rooooaaaar!
It reminded me of my dear, departed Dad.
October 19th, 2007 at 1:45 am
Poetry discussion aside - I took a look at some of the other products offered at the website with the shoes. Pretty funny, and well worth a look - the denim jodphurs alone had me laughing hysterically.
October 19th, 2007 at 2:26 am
Thank you for this lovely post, which triggered happy memories. I say the Manolo makes the smile, much more than the Pucci! Cute red shoes, too, and a lot less terrifying then their “walking shoes” (http://www.com-pa-ny.com/portfolio/shoe_company/walking_shoes.jpg)
October 19th, 2007 at 9:18 am
I’m delighted to find out that the Manolo is also a fan of the Roethke.
And I don’t get the whole “child-abuse” thing either. To me, it just sounds like some raucous play — a dad getting his kid all wound up before bed, as fathers are often wont to do.
October 20th, 2007 at 6:23 pm
Not child abuse, but an imperfect father of whiskey-drinking and play that might have a tiny roughness in it and whom one loves madly anyway.
Lit professor of complexity, loving the Manolo all the more for loving this poem.
October 23rd, 2007 at 11:32 pm
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