My Papa's Waltz

My Papa’s Waltz by Theodore Roethke (1948)


The merry title of Theodore Roethke verse, "My Papas Waltz", belies the true sense of this distressing poem. What one anticipates as a touching childhood memory, is quickly dispelled and any preconceived ideal that we may have ascertained from the brief title has completely vanished. The reader is thrown into the midst of reality by the first lines, swiftly sending us deeper into the melancholy lives of this working class family. Each new line reveals a new layer of imagery created by the morbid scene.

The sad and lyrical poem is then hard to deny and misinterpret; the melancholic scene where a child is forced to 'waltz' in a macabre and wild dance with his drunken father while the mother looks on unable to help either her son or herself.

The overall tone of the poem is incontrovertible with the use of words like: “scraped,” “battered,” “hung on,” “clinging,” “beat”. The child's uncertainty, unpleasantness and fear are evident throughout the poem by such phrases as, 'Waltzing was not easy', and 'my ear scraped a buckle'; this was obviously an involuntary dance for the child. The boy's desperation of in this situation seeps to the reader with the simile, "I hung on like death"; a distressed plea from someone so young. The shear gravity of the words communicates the deep desperation of the child.

The child’s understandable objection to the situation is apparent, though it is written in a blasé tone suggestion to the reader that reluctance or resistance may come with a price, so it does not seem possible nor is it attempted by either child or mother.

Furthermore, the mother’s vulnerability of the situation is obvious as she looks on frozen with a frown of what could be interpreted as displeasure, defenselessness and fear. The battered knuckle subtly conveys that the hand has been used as a weapon and the tone implies that this is not a new idea to the child but probably a repeated occurrence to his mother and perhaps himself.

The tone of the poem conveys the overall wretchedness of these people lives and the perpetual cycle of unhappiness which accompanies it, which persists from generation to generation.




"My Papa's Waltz" - Theodore Roethke (1948)

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.