My Papa’s Waltz: Ambiguity in Poetry

Before reading the commentary, please read the poem first.

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.

Of the Poem:

Ambiguity in poetry generally arises in three ways:
1. when we lack the context within which the poem was written
2. when we’re outside the vernacular of the poem or the poet
3. and, when we lack both the context of the poem along with its vernacular

My Papa’s Waltz is a strange poem to interpret. Its vernacular isn’t cryptic or remote, so it would seem any English reader could easily pick up the meaning it imparts. Its context, even if the poet hasn’t disclosed it to us elsewhere, essentially gives itself away. So the possibility of misunderstanding it, one would think, would be next to nonexistent.

That said, this poem has produced two schools of thought as to its meaning. On the one hand are those who believe the poem speaks of child abuse by an alcoholic father; on the other hand there are those who, while acknowledging the role alcohol plays, believe the poem to be a cherished childhood reflection of a boy waltzing with his dad who's slightly tipsy.

It is said by the latter group that the father may have been a kind of jolly drinker who comes home from work and (albeit clumsily) dances his boy to bed; the former group- citing examples from words like battered, knuckle, scraped, beat- think the poem clearly shows the father to be a mean drunk who rapaciously abuses his boy after a day of work.

Though seemingly simple, the poem does seem to contain a strong degree of ambiguity (otherwise this division of meaning wouldn't exist as it does). Looking at it under the microscope one can understand the arguments from both sides. One might even say- though I doubt the poet would- both sides are in a way correct.

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There seems little question that the poet speaks of himself. The use of past tense terminology (e.g. was not easy) seems to suggest 'presence' and reflection. Some of the details are too descriptive to not be actual memories (whiskey on your breath, battered on one knuckle, right ear scraped). These and other examples have led both schools of interpretation to the general conclusion that the boy in the poem is Roethke himself.

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy

This doesn’t require much hermeneutic prowess; that the father had been drinking whiskey there’s no question. Both schools would agree. What they might disagree on is how much and how drunk the father was. Also, since this is where the division of interpretation seems to occur, there's the question of how the alcohol affected his mood.

But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy

The advocates of a more peaceful poem would say the boy ran to his father and gripped his leg as he walks in the house. The term ‘death’ does not need to be a negative one, it may resemble phrases such as: 'hugged to death', 'tickled to death', etc. Because the father staggers as the boy holds on, the boy says that this “waltzing was not easy” (in much the same way a rollercoaster ride isn’t easy). The advocates of this position tend to believe the term waltz is a simple euphemism for the father’s disequilibrium.

Those who see a more cruel aspect in the poem believe the father jerked his boy about, that the boy, off balance perhaps, “hung on like death” (where death implies the boy’s state of fear). Obviously such violent 'waltzing' wouldn't be easy for anyone. The advocates of this position tend to believe the term waltz is a euphemism for conflict, in much the same way that the phase ‘let’s dance’ might mean ' let's fight'.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

Romping by definition is playing. Here the boy and his father carry on into the kitchen where some dishes are bumped into and, falling to the ground, provoke a mild annoyance in the mother’s looks. Then again, perhaps 'romp' is deliberately used as a poetic symbol, and the reason the pans fall and the reason the mother is frowning is precisely because the abuse and violence tears into the kitchen.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

The third stanza is where the bulk of the said ‘violent images’ comes from. Terms like, held my wrist, battered, knuckle, ear scraped, buckle …. all these seem to indicate a violent struggle: the father grips the boy’s wrist to spank him with a belt; drunk, he looses his step and catches the boy with the belt’s buckle a few times. His battered hand? Perhaps from the struggle in the kitchen area?

Some say this is going overboard. Despite being slightly buzzed, the father dances lovingly with his boy. His battered hand? Perhaps from a half-stumble in the kitchen area? Perhaps from working? The point is that they’re dancing, and because the father keeps missing his beat (he’s buzzed remember) his buckle keeps bumping his son’s right ear.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

The word ‘beat’ seems another violent potential. In fact, it would almost certainly mimic the escalation of a violent frenzy: The father grabs his boy about; the boy, clinging fearfully to the father’s shirt, is yanked around in the kitchen where dishes fall to the ground; next comes the belt (and inadvertently the belt's buckle) … finally, perhaps frustrated by his own disequilibrium, he discards the belt and takes up his hand, dragging the boy to his room (the boy still clinging fearfully to his father’s shirt). Sad, sad if true.

Again, some would blame that perspective for going overboard. It should be simple: The father comes home a little buzzed (not necessarily drunk, and certainly not mean); his boy runs and jumps and hug onto his leg; the father mimics a waltz perhaps, but being a little tipsy in the kitchen bumps some dishes to the ground (annoying mom and maybe battering a knuckle in the process); unable to maintain tempo he misses some steps which, as this happens, causes his belt buckle scratch his son’s ear; in his attempt to maintain tempo, the father pats the rhythm of the waltz on his son’s head (“you beat time on my head”), and literally waltzes his son to bed (the son lovingly still clinging to his shirt).

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Brief Note on Hermeneutics:

Traditional hermeneutics pertains to the art of interpretation and is usually reserved for, and applied to, sacred texts. In our contemporary world the term has found itself at home in linguistics and the philosophy of language, where the question of interpretation isn’t limited to scripture, but includes such things as broad spectrum language, sign language, and even body language. Martin Heidegger applies the term to life itself, and would have us understand that without an ‘existential hermeneutic’ (of reality) human understanding would itself be impossible.

The problem in hermeneutics as linguists know it is that interpreting anything correctly depends entirely on an agreed system of terms and symbols so that a mutual vernacular is established. Where this lacks ambiguity lurks. So when we come across a poem written by a poet long gone who hasn’t disclosed the context within which the poem was written, misinterpretations give way.

That’s what I find here. We lack the knowledge of the true event that produced this poem, and the poet can’t lend us an answer. We seem left with a beautiful (maybe tragic) work that asks: What am I? Had the terms (particularly, for me anyhow, the term ‘romp’) been explained to the letter I suspect the apparent dichotomy of it would hardly exist- but then again, what would have become of the poem as poetry.

I’d love to know what your perspective of the poem was when it was first read by you. Where did you fall in the dichotomy of it? If it would help to hear the poem read, click on the link below- it is Roethke himself who does the reading (note his mood and inflection as he reads his own poem).

My Papa's Waltz

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I’d like to acknowledge the New England Blog PoemShape for a great breakdown of My Papa's Waltz. Also, One Poet's Notes elaborates beautifully on this topic. Please, do check these blogs out.