The New Yorker: Poetry cover image

Peter Balakian Reads Theodore Roethke

The New Yorker: Poetry

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Death of the Self in a Long, Tearless Night

In a dark time, the eye begins to that's a really interesting starting point, and it's very personal. As you say, death of the self in a long, tearless night, all natural shapes blazing, unnatural lightThat contrast between dark and light can get, frankly, over used, but he somehow renews it, i think, in this poem. And then there is a kind of a catharsis and freedom that happens, which i think, gives this poem an enormous psychological power.

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