I take back what you have stolen and in your languages I announce I am now nameless.
My true name is a growl.
Margaret Atwood

14 April 2018

untitled (hoodwinked river pears/pairs)



I finger the honey for the fig
but for the crushing weight of pears
the wanting of pastry slaking butter
in my mouth
frayed blue-jean memories cupped in
she-her-her-I, hymnal
hip-hugging baklava canvases
aren't of my birth, mother
but for the wasp's sting of cursed proprieties
I did what you have done
tasting bittersweet plums






*
feasting on 55 for Friday 55 at Verse Escape

inspired by the image by 
Leonor Fini & Peter Gabriel's Shaking the Tree

Songwriters: Peter Gabriel / Youssou N'dour

Souma Yergon, Sou Nou Yergon
We are shakin' the tree
Souma Yergon, Sou Nou Yergon
We are shakin' the tree
Waiting your time, dreaming of a better life
Waiting your time, you're more than just a wife
You don't have to do what your mother has done
She has done, this is your life, this new life has begun

Souma Yergon, Sou Nou Yergon is a Senegalese term meaning, “If we had known, if we had only known”.


7 comments:

  1. I've read this three times, and each it just gets better, sweeter, richer, and yields that elusive tang of lemon a good cook adds to keep the cloy away...also it made me remember the pungent-astringent taste of Japanese salted plums I once ate, thinking they would be sweet..but the curse of proprieties is the curse of expectations; that they predict too much and one is constantly let down by their inaccuracies. I especially like the way you have strung together the mother-child beads for the hymnal cover, smudged your sticky fingers over blue-jeaned hips to clean them and also moved quickly enough to duck the wasp...in other words, I really really liked this 55. The song/pic you include is helpful to get to depth with it, and valuable, of course, in its own right. Thanks so much for honing, shoving, peeling, paring and biting this one out for this kickass weekend. It is appreciated.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. but the curse of proprieties is the curse of expectations; that they predict too much and one is constantly let down by their inaccuracies.
      to live at the impossible hands/mouths of this for a lifetime, while rallying against, because you've already figured out how fucked up this is so early on .... shit ... I'm too old for this shit ... but then the bittersweet of also realizing just how "nurture" still stained the bedclothes red .... oh, the irony. Dry wine.

      thanks as always Hedge ~ for all of you showing up, to share your thoughts

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  2. I, too, like the blue jeans/hymnal section. I see that, like Hedge and me, you are a tag whore. It's a fine thing to be, imo.

    Food always adds (ahem) flavor to any poem, a sense of place, time and sensory stuff that affects both body and imagination.

    I love the quote about the hand, at top left. it sounds like stuff you have said, but condensed.

    You a very cool Chicken-Bone type poet person, yanno?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. dem bones, dem bones, dem bones they are a humming on the floor, on the counter, in the pot - stir it up, stew and brew, spit it out ....

      actually, this started with a few other ideas from a few pieces from before, and as I noted at the 55 link - damn if I didn't play with this during the week .... gahhhh! hence the "familiar but condensed. just draw off the water"

      thanks for your words .... whoot!

      Delete
  3. You had me entranced from the fig image.. all the way down to the bitter sweet plums. And it takes something to pin my eyes to words on a screen, only a few get it so right.

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thanks for sharing your thoughts, I greatly appreciate it.