poetry

poetry friday roundup is here

~ jama ~ 37 Comments
Please help yourself to tea, pumpkin whoopee pies and a shortbread scottie.

Welcome to Poetry Friday at Alphabet Soup!

Some of you may remember when I shared, “What Not to Write on the Back Jacket of Your Debut Collection,” from Scottish poet Helena Nelson’s delightful book, Down with Poetry! (HappenStance, 2016). Well, here are two more ‘unsuitable,’ rabble-rousing, anti-poetry rib ticklers designed to keep any literary snobs in check. Yes, poetry is SERIOUS BUSINESS. But that also makes it the perfect subject for serious satire, and Nelson is so good at it.

See if these don’t give you a good lift. 😀

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“Gray Bra” by Nathalia Chipilova (2013).
MRS N ENTERS THE LITERARY WORLD

I know it's hard to believe me when I say
(watch my lips)
I once found it hard to get my poems published.
I used to get--Rejection Slips.

In those days the little magazines
--sole recipients of my writing--
clearly needed waking-up--
their editors were uninviting.

As time went by I grew more bold--
no doubt I was inspired by The Muse.
I won elevation by a device
which happily transformed their views.

The purchase of a Wonderbra
which I wore to a poetry slam in Fife
at the cost of £19.99
was the single thrust that changed my life.

I took two poems, short and sweet
and pinned one neatly to each cup
and then I raised my cleavage up,
dangling the poems in mid-air,
suspended like Parnassus where
my readers (those abreast) could stare.

And thus it was a genre started,
my coup de bra, my magnum opus
shared by my sisters (try and stop us.)
The world of Arts Review and Crit
refers to us--we're not part of it--
with quiet reverence as--Lit Tit.

~ Copyright © 2016 Helena Nelson. All rights reserved.

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“When I Am In The Kitchen” by Jeanne Marie Beaumont

~ jama ~ 30 Comments
“Kitchen Tools” by Tarsanjp
WHEN I AM IN THE KITCHEN
by Jeanne Marie Beaumont

I think about the past. I empty the ice-cube trays
crack crack cracking like bones, and I think
of decades of ice cubes and of John Cheever,
of Anne Sexton making cocktails, of decades
of cocktail parties, and it feels suddenly far
too lonely at my counter. Although I have on hooks
nearby the embroidered apron of my friend's
grandmother and one my mother made for me
for Christmas 30 years ago with gingham I had
coveted through my childhood. In my kitchen
I wield my great aunt's sturdy black-handled
soup ladle and spatula, and when I pull out
the drawer, like one in a morgue, I visit
the silverware of my husband's grandparents.
We never met, but I place this in my mouth
every day and keep it polished out of duty.
In the cabinets I find my godmother's
teapot, my mother's Cambridge glass goblets,
my mother-in-law's Franciscan plates, and here
is the cutting board my first husband parqueted
and two potholders I wove in grade school.
Oh the past is too much with me in the kitchen,
where I open the vintage metal recipe box,
robin's egg blue in its interior, to uncover
the card for Waffles, writ in my father's hand
reaching out from the grave to guide me
from the beginning, "sift and mix dry ingredients"
with his note that this makes "3 waffles in our
large pan" and around that our an unbearable
round stain -- of egg yolk or melted butter? --
that once defined a world.

~ Copyright 2010 Jeanne Marie Beaumont.

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twice as nice, or, grin and bear it

~ jama ~ 40 Comments
Thinking of Queen Elizabeth II who died a year ago today.

Happy September and Welcome Back!

After a nice summer break, we’re ready to talk about good books, share beautiful art and poems, rustle up some new recipes, and of course, play with our toys — as we mark 16 years of Alphabet Soup. Special greetings to all the new subscribers who’ve signed up recently. So glad you’re here!

The year has flown by at lightning speed and now that September has arrived, I wish time would. slow. down.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could have twice as many months during autumn (truly the best season of the year)? Twice as many crisp, cool days with deep blue skies, twice as much gorgeous seasonal color, twice as many pumpkins, apples, happy trick-or-treaters, and twice as much time to appreciate the small everyday pleasures no one can take away from us despite all the craziness going on in the world.

Hold on to what you can. Take it where you find it. Share it whenever possible.

There’s surprising news about Mr Cornelius, but first, a poem to celebrate the month that heralds more beauty to come.

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“Four Trees” by Egon Schiele (1917).
THE MONTH OF ALL
by Henry Grantland Rice

You may take your winters southward,
You may have your golden Junes,
You may have your summer mountains
Or your eastern fog-swept dunes;
But I’ll take the first red ember,
Where the Painter works his will,
When it’s morning in September,
Or it’s noon-day in September,
Or it’s twilight in September,
And the flame is on the hill.
There is orange down the valley,
There is crimson out the lane;
There’s a fleck of purple tinting
Where the maples meet the rain.
For the glow that I remember,
With an everlasting thrill,
Is a morning in September,
Or a noon-time in September,
Or a twilight in September,
When the flame is on the hill.

(This poem is in the public domain.)

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you say tomato, I say tomahto (+ a summer blog break)

~ jama ~ 19 Comments

“A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins.” ~ Laurie Colwin (Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, 2012)

via Nashville Scene

We have a big love for tomatoes here in the Alphabet Soup kitchen. Wish we still had our own vegetable garden, as there’s nothing like freshly picked homegrown tomatoes for salads and sandwiches. Along with peaches, they represent the best part of summer.

“Still Life-Tomatoes” by Gevorg Sinanyan
SONNET #43, KITCHEN STYLE
by Kim O'Donnel

How do I love thee, tomato? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and might
My palate can reach, when remembering out of sight
Your peak month of August, when you bear fruits of juicy Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most urgent need for a BLT, by sun or moon-light.
I love thee with abandon, as Venus might her Mars or Vulcan.
I love thee purely, as surely as the summer wanes.
I love thee with the passion of my appetite
Above all fruits, and with my childhood's eye of Jersey tomatoes
As if they were falling from the sky.
I love thee with a hunger I seemed to lose
With my lost innocence (and the icky mealy tomatoes of January)! I love thee with the smell,
Unlike no other in the garden, and your vine-ripened sweetness
That bring me smiles, tears, only at this time of year! -- and if the farmers choose,
I shall but love thee better after many bowls of gazpacho.

~ This poem first appeared in the “What’s Cooking/A Mighty Appetite” column in The Washington Post (August 7, 2006).
“Still Life #5: Tomatoes and Basil” by Vitaly Sidorenko

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Gary Bunt: the joy of simple pleasures

~ jama ~ 15 Comments
“Life is But a Dream” by Gary Bunt.

Today, a little sampler of quintessential British charm with paintings + poems by beloved artist Gary Bunt.

You may remember my featuring his work a couple of years ago, when I mentioned that he usually includes a short poem on the back of his paintings. His ‘old man with dog’ pictures have made his work instantly recognizable and highly accessible.

His scenes of country life are comforting and reassuring, just what the doctor ordered in these troubling times. There’s just something so endearing about hearing the little dog’s point of view. 

See if these pictures + short poems — by the sea, on the farm, and in the garden — don’t tug at your heartstrings. All were created in 2021-2022.

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THE SEA WALL

Down by the beach
By the sea wall
Across the sea
The east wind whips
But I don’t care
I am just happy to share
My Master’s fish and chips

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DOGGY PADDLE

I’m having a paddle
With my Master
But it’s hard to concentrate
I’m trying to be good
Like I know that I should
But there are biscuits over
There on that plate
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