Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Do you remember eating your first artichoke? By which poem where you first smitten?

Travel is good on so many levels.  The freedom to try something for the first time.  An Italian restaurant in The Hague sometime in the early '80s, I become personally engaged with a stuffed artichoke.  Ever since, artichokes are an intimate part of my life.  Though infrequently stuffed. Plain, boiled and each leaf raked through teeth.  Sublime & vegetal.  Fodder for poems, too.

First poem?  e.e. cummings   "If there are any heavens…."

Why is she thinking of broth and eventide outlining the neighbor's house?

Because both are poems.
Both nourish.
Both feed the senses.
Both whisper "possibilities."

Because in her house there are many pens.

How shall the last meal of the year influence words written in the new year?

Decide on the meal.  Prepare.  Enjoy.  Clean up.  Then, wait until morning.
Time is metronome for cooking & music. If poetry isn't music, what is it?  Then again, if cooking isn't music?

If the comma is an arbitrary construct, what of the onion?

Both are neither arbitrary. Nor capricious.
Both demonstrate kinship of form although the onion is exquisitely aligned to the circle.

The comma is the progenitor of the spoon.  Thus, spoon & onion.  Comma & circle.  I believe
we have come full….

What do "thus" and "beets" have in common?

The first is the go-to for words.  Especially when I know there is a connection but, perhaps, can't articulate in the moment.

The second is my go-to in the food kingdom.

Thus, get (thee) to beets.

And the backup?   Perhaps, persimmons.

Monday, December 30, 2013

What one word do food and poetry have in common?


Some take stock at the end of the year….

why not make it?  Simple -- onions, carrots, garlic, peppercorns, dried herbs.

And the poem?  Simple as that straight-forward recipe with a surprise ingredient.  Perhaps, dried lemons.  Or cinnamon.  Or beets.  Or a combination.

What will be the first dish served on 1/1/14? Which poem will accommodate?

Neither is known.  A hand one day older will open the refrigerator and a pantry and a meal will ensue.  Most like of a soup or stew consistency.  Once the cooking begins, the poem may appear in the cutting, in the stirring.  In the embraces of steam.

Are black lentils the new blink poem?

Indeed, it appears so.
What's a blink poem you ask.  The result of fusion.  Fusion?  Title & text are fused.  A blink poem is an interior (albeit sometimes quirky or queer)  landscape in as few words as possible.

An example?

the cat saves the world

How does this relate to blank lentils?   Serving black lentils in a white bowl, I am reminded of haiku,the adorable, precocious 10-year old black & white cat who, no longer asleep, jumps on my lap.  With that simple act, he once again saves the world.  Please note, there is no title in that act.

Late tomorrow when the celebratory meal is finished and the new year is realized, which poem will greet you?

The one-word answer:  "wait."
To each answer, a question.  Thus, the larger question -- does she know what a poem is?
Returning to a one-word answer, "dubious."
Though the meal will contain blue cheese of this she is not dubious.  

Is writing a poem possible when there are no fuyu persimmons left in the market?

Yes. Consider the questions.

How many poems are about loss?  How many about denial? How many about walking through loss to a place of possibility?  How many whose core is trust?

How many questions do poems and food share?

Friday, December 27, 2013

What's the connection between winter squash and poetry?

The difficulty to cut open the squash.  The physical effort.
To begin the poem by splitting open the page.

Winter squash is formidable & delicious.  Some poems are difficult to begin but worth the weight, the effort to cut open.  Creating a nourishing soup is writing a poem.  On this knife and spoon agree.

How does light affect a meal? A poem?

The less light the longer the meal inside and the shorter the meal outside.
Light has no bearing on the length of a poem except as subject.

On a winter night which food tastes best?

Food of heft
& heat, perhaps
fire.  As in spicy?
And which poems?
which comfort
& offer the dark
the sweetest morsel.  

How does one decide what to eat and what to write on 12/25?

The decision is local.  Here in San Francisco, I walk Ocean Beach.  It was a brilliantly bright & warmday.  I was not alone and all pebbles appeared relaxed and open to their journey.
I'm never alone on the beach.  Never alone in the kitchen.  Whatever/however/with whomever you celebrate, I trust you did.  Eat well & write.

Everyone has a favorite holiday dish. What's your go-to holiday poem?

Why?  Aren't food & poetry synonymous?
Seriously, which poem?
The one that has been written for winter solstice.
Check out the current issue of The Bay Times.  

OK?  If you are curious about the go-to food.
Something with Fuyu persimmons.  Something with golden beets.
Always some cheese.