Uncategorized – Page 11 – Alice-Catherine

Poetry at the Post, Day 7: Here’s to the Tomato!

“Ode to Tomatoes” by Pablo Neruda, as translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer…

“It’s time” or soon it will be time for tomato season in Texas. Neruda’s poem “Ode to Tomatoes” reminds me of how much I enjoy garden grown tomatoes. There is just no substitute. Greenhouse tomatoes fill the gap in a pinch but they are just not the same. In Chile, the season is December and the tomato “unabated/invades the kitchen.”

You can read the full poem here in both Spanish and English: http://www.soupsong.com/ftomato2.html

I first read this poem several years ago. What I learned about craft from this poem and the others in the collection Odas Elementales , or Odes to Common Things is that you can write a poem about anything: a tomato, an onion, a lemon, even a pair of socks. I wrote an “Ode to High Heels”, modeled on Neruda’s “Ode to Tomatoes,” because I have a fondness for heels. They make me feel majestic. The perfect heel, for me, is 2 3/4″—not always so easy to find.

So much has been written about Neruda that I have nothing new to add, except that I read today that Neruda chose his pen name after the Czech poet, Jan Neruda.

Jan Neruda's grave Vysehrad Cemetery, Prague Photo courtesy of Miaow Miaow , October 2005 — Jan Neruda’s grave Vysehrad Cemetery, Prague
Photo courtesy of Miaow Miaow , October 2005

Since no one has been joining me at the post each morning, I decided to read to a couple of my neighbors. They really liked this poem.

If you happen to be in the Austin, TX area and are looking for a full time seasonal job, Johnson’s Backyard Garden is hiring Tomato Packing Crew Members now.

https://www.jbgorganic.com/blog/2013/05/jbg-is-hiring-for-summer/

Thanks to Julie Haines for her request for Neruda. It was so much fun to reread this poem.

Poetry at the Post, Day 6: Where is Sogamoso?

Panoramico Sogamoso Luis Photo courtesy of Enrique Alvarez Licence Art Libre — Panoramico Sogamoso Photo courtesy of Luis Enrique Alvarez Licence Art Libre

“At Twilight on the Road to Sogamoso” by Maurice Kilwein Guevara

The sun ins beginning to go down
over a field of yellow onions…

Although it was just after sunrise, I elected Guevara’s poem because I was curious. Where IS Sogamoso? Well, as it turns out it is a city in Colombia, Guevara’s native country.

Located in the valley of Iraca, according to Chibcha mythology, it is the place of the creation of the Sun.

Somedays I feel as if the center of the Sun is right here in Mano Prieto, Texas—and today it is very plump and jolly!

Sadly, “At Twilight on the Road to Sogamoso” leads us to a different reality. You can read the entire poem here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/247396

Poetry at the Post, Day 5: Belly Dancer by Diane Wakoski

I had the pleasure of meeting Diane Wakoski a few years back in Tulum, Mexico. We were staying at the same small inn downtown. In Tulum for the program, US POETS IN MEXICO, Diane gave a reading one night in a palapa by the beach. I was mesmerized by the poems, her presence.

Belly dancers bedazzle me too. I almost signed up to take belly dance lessons one year in San Antonio, Texas. That was the year I tried lots of strange stuff. While reading “Belly Dancer” this morning at the post, I could still recall that desire to wear the long silk skirt, the beaded fringe.

Where does this thin green silk come from that covers my body?
Surely any woman wearing such fabrics
would move her body just to feel them touching every part of her.

You can read the entire poem here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176001
And for more information on US POETS IN MEXICO, visit http://www.uspoetsinmexico.org. In 2014, the program will be held in Oaxaca, Mexico October 27-31.

Poetry at the Post, Day 4: Dante’s Inferno

May 26, 2014

This morning I picked up Mary Jo Bang’s contemporary version of Dante’s Inferno and took it to the post. I let the wind select the passage.

I ended up on page 74, deep in mud and in the 5th level of hell. This is place reserved for those who lived sullen or angry lives.

I was standing there staring
At a swamp of naked people covered in mud,
All of whom looked as if they were furious.

What I love about Dante is that he reels me into this fantastic journey down into the depths of hell but I end up in the innards of my own life—and how I live it. I must admit. I struggle with anger. Fortunately, there are ways put it aside. For me, it is with yoga.

So, today I give thanks for The Well and Prana Yoga. If you find yourself in Marfa, Texas or Oaxaca, Mexico, check them out. They are both very special places.

http://thewellmarfa.com

http://pranayogaoaxaca.com

*We’ll be will be reading Dante’s Purgatorio in the virtual literary salon. Date: TBD. Visit the The Global Reading Group tab more more information. Anyone have a favorite translation?

Alice-Catherine Press Sets Up Shop in Far West Texas

supplies were located, unpacked and sorted
know what I have and need.
a few glitches—
like a mouse invasion (yikes!)—
production should begin soon
at Alice-Catherine Press-El Norte

Alice-Catherine Press is a kitchen-table publisher of hand-made books of poetry.
Casa 300
Off the road between Marfa & Fort Davis, Texas

Poetry at the Post, Day 3: “Ode” by Arthur O’Shaughnessy

Kensai Greem Cemetery, December 2005 Photo courtesy of Justin Cormack Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license. — Kensai Greem Cemetery, December 2005
Photo courtesy of Justin Cormack
Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.

“Ode” by Arthur O’Shaughnessy (1844-81)

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,

A British poet of Irish descent, O’Shaughnessy earned his living as an herpetologist at the British Museum. His real love, however, was not the frogs and snakes but literature, especially poetry.

For me, this poem is special because it reminds me of the importance of beginning new dreams. Instead of focusing on the past—its successes and failures– and the passage of time and generations, I like to think of the dream that is being conceived. (And, Yes! My dream is coming true! #lateantiquitystudiesBudapest2014)

For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Sadly, O’Shaughnessy died of a “Chill” at the age of 36. He is buried at Kensai Green Cemetery in London. For the full poem and a bit of fairy dust, visit http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/242554

Eagles, Parsley & Greaves

May 10, 2014

Golden Eagle
Photo Courtesy of Tony Hisgett from Birmingham, UK
Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license

Let’s talk birds! Well, eagles specifically and their symbolism in THE ILIAD.
http://birdnote.org/show/birds-omens-iliad
As we journey with Homer to war, we’re also talking parsley, goat cheese & greaves!

Join us for part 2 of our special 2-book literary salon with OMERUS by Derek Walcott:June 1-15th, 2014. Send a note to alicecatherinej@gmail.com to join. Free and open to all.

The Poetics of Laundry—A Garden Looking To Be Tamed

Doing the laundry is akin to reading The Iliad. There is the ritual of loading the washer. If not done regularly, the task of clean clothes becomes a burden. Such is the work of The Iliad. If a commitment to read daily is not made, your charge to push through to the end of it seems overwhelming.

A charge it is as the description of war takes up at least half of The Iliad. And no two battles are the same. “…every battle rises above the last in greatness, horror, and confusion.” (Alexander Pope)

Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus by Nikolai Ge

In Oaxaca, my life is easy. I stuff my clothes in a bag and carry them up a cobbled pathway and drop them off at Lavanderia Burbumatic. Some days, it is loco at the laundry. The mound of clothes is a Mount Olympus.

I imagine the lavandera lifting her head from those mounds and crying “Oh dear brother, help us! Give us your horses—so I can reach Olympus….” (The Iliad, 5: 359-60, as translated by Robert Fagles.)

I don’t know how they keep it all straight yet week after week whatever I put in in that bag, I get back—unlike at home. There a sock-eating Cyclops that lives inside my washing machine. He must. How else could so many sock “singlets” go missing?

My comrades left me here in the Cyclops’ vast cave…It’s a house of blood and gory feasts, vast and dark inside. (The Aeneid, as translated by A. S. Kline) Oops! Mixing classics.

Burbumatic must be monster free as my socks, like vowels in Ionic diphthongs, are reunited and layered between the pants and leggings. Each piece of clothing is folded art, a cotton origami.

Budapest is in my future. I’m very excited. I will miss Oaxaca, my neighborhood laundry, yet soon I’ll be walking the streets of Buda looking for my local patyolat. Patyolat??

Spoiler alert! At last, when young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shown once more, …the Trojans buried Hector breaker of horses. (The Iliad, 24:926, 944, as translated by Robert Fagles.)

We’re reading The Iliad this May in the Global Reading Group, a virtual literary salon. Contact me to join @ alicecatherinej@gmail.com. And, it’s not all battles! We’re looking at food too!

http://www.kalofagas.ca/2009/05/24/parsley-salad-μαϊντανοσαλάτα-σύρου/

Category: Uncategorized