I remember my poetry professor describing Roethke as a 'fabulous drunk'. (Which was really saying something coming from him.) Roethke had a manic, tortured life--in and out of the hospital for mental breakdowns and manic depression. I love the way he writes. It sings with power. Like he's sitting next to you drumming out the words on the table as he speaks. I can feel the vibrations in the lines.

Open House
Theodore Roethke

My secrets cry aloud.
I have no need for tongue.
My heart keeps open house,
My doors are widely swung.
An epic of the eyes
My love, with no disguise.

My truths are all foreknown,
This anguish self-revealed.
I'm naked to the bone,
With nakedness my shield.
Myself is what I wear:
I keep the spirit spare.

The anger will endure,
The deed will speak the truth
In language strict and pure.
I stop the lying mouth;
Rage warps my dearest cry
To witness agony.