pumpkin pie o’clock

November 26, 2020February 12, 2021 ~ jama ~ 32 Comments

‘Tis time to be thankful and eat pie. 🙂

Though some grow giddy at the mere thought of roast turkey with all the fixins’, for me, Thanksgiving has always been about pie.

Pumpkin pie, to be exact.

Maybe it’s because we only had it once a year. Though we dallied with apple, blueberry, banana cream, custard and pecan at other times, pumpkin pie was largely reserved for Thanksgiving.

To this day, one bite and I’m back in Hawai’i at one of our family potlucks — table laden not only with turkey, mashed potatoes & gravy, yams, several hot veggies, and fresh cranberry sauce, but also pineapple glazed ham, steamed rice, makizushi, pork and vegetable lo mein, at least two kinds of kimchi, a retro Jell-O salad, and a roast chicken for Grandma Yang, who did not like turkey.

Yes, we relished every savory mouthful of this lovingly prepared homemade spread, but I always knew, deep down, that the best was yet to come.

Here’s a delectable poem to whet your appetite.

WHEN THE PIE IS COOLING 
by Camille A. Balla

I recall the first Thanksgiving
I was designated to be the pumpkin-pie baker
and for years thereafter; pies made
with the excitement of family homecoming --
always making the dough from scratch.

Today I call upon the Pillsbury boy
to make and roll out the circle of dough
which I place into the pan, then add
the traditional filling with just the right
amounts of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves.

The November chill makes cozy the warmth
from the oven as I await the sweet, spicy aroma,
telling me when the pie is just about done.
How satisfying it is to delight once again
in this simple work of my hands.

I think of the many hands
along the way to my kitchen that made
possible the baking of this pie:
The grower of the pumpkin,
the wheat farmer, the dairy farmer, the egg
farmer,
the hands that picked the sugar cane.
The hands of workers in a cannery,
of truckers who transport foods to the store,
the hands of the people who shelve ingredients
that come from here or far-off lands.

Hands of people I never met
yet all of them a part -- whether aware or not --
of this pumpkin pie now ready
to be served at my Thanksgiving table.

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quiet, please

November 6, 2020November 5, 2020 ~ jama ~ 23 Comments

No noise, chatter, busyness or worry.

Deep breaths.

Silence, sweet silence.

KEEPING QUIET
by Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

~ from Extravagaria: A Bilingual Edition, translated by Alastair Reid (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2001)

*“La Solitude du Christ” by Alphonse Osbert (1897)*

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good morning?

October 30, 2020October 29, 2020 ~ jama ~ 60 Comments

Wake up! Wake Up!

Don’t want to.

But if you had some tea?

ODE TO A TEA BAG
by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer

It is the bleakest of
mornings
as I crawl from my bed,
red-eyed, rumpled, and
decidedly unrefreshed.
My right hip seems not to
be working,
my left shoulder has a
kink,
already a sinus headache
is brewing
and, oh, Lord! — look at
my hair!
Limping, snuffling,
creaking, moaning,
I make my way toward
the kitchen . . .
grope about in the dark
for the kettle,
grope about in the dark
for the tea tin,
turn on the stove, feel my
spirits rise up
as I reach for a cup in
needy anticipation.
Thank you, God, for the
glorious gift of Earl Grey.

~ from She of the Rib: Women Unwrapped (CRM Books, 2006)

Sound familiar? I think Ms. Ferrer must be spying on me or reading my mail or something. How did she describe me and my morning routine so well?

What’s that? Yours too?

I guess we’re all in this together. Have you noticed that with age it gets harder and harder to get up and going? Oh the grogginess and slowness! Oh the struggle to move!

Not that I was ever one to bounce out of bed, kick up my heels, and burst into song or anything. But man! It’s become quite a challenge lately.

I’ve never been a morning person (no phone calls before noon, please!). One of my college roommates even called me Grumpy. I think ‘Silent and Contemplative’ would have been more accurate. Some of us simply prefer to greet each new day with a modicum of gentleness. 🙂

In any case, this poem made me smile in recognition — a welcome bit of levity in these dark times. BTW, did you know Jayne Jaudon Ferrer is the one who launched Your Daily Poem back in 2009? If you’re a subscriber, you probably already knew that. Well, I just found out after many years of enjoying the site. See what I mean about being slow to wake up?

BOOK GIVEAWAY WINNER!

Thanks to all who entered the giveaway for JOEY: The Story of Joe Biden a few weeks ago. Things are getting exciting (and nerve wracking), now that the election is just a few days away.

After several cups of Earl Grey, Mr Cornelius (who isn’t a morning person either), picked the winner, who is:

🏈 ZACHARY SNYDER!! 🏀

🎈CONGRATULATIONS, ZACH! 🎈

🎉 WOO HOO! 🎉

We know you’ll enjoy the book!

And thanks again, everyone, for your comments and enthusiasm. 🙂

La la la la Lovely Linda is hosting the Roundup at TeacherDance. Waltz on over to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Stay safe, be well, wear your mask, and VOTE (no more malarkey)!

All set now and ready to go!

What’s your morning high octane drink: coffee or tea?

*from “Camellia and the Rabbit,” by Petra Storrs and Becky Palmer*

poetry friday roundup is here!

October 22, 2020 ~ jama ~ 38 Comments

Welcome to Poetry Friday at Alphabet Soup!

Please help yourself to a mug of warm cider and an apple cider donut. Since things are tough these days, better take two. 🙂

While many of us consider fall our favorite season — we certainly love the gorgeous leaf color, the cooler temperatures and deep blue skies — there is always that shade of melancholy, a keener awareness of passing time.

As trees take their final bow in rustic costume, we become more appreciative of their transient beauty and painfully aware of our own mortality.

Recently I stumbled upon this poignant poem by Michigan poet David James. I think he gets it just right.

FALLING
by David James

I've wheelbarrowed over a thousand
apples behind the cedars
for compost.
Hundreds are still left stranded 
in the branches, dropping with each burst
of wind. Every year's a blur,
and my heart marks another tally off 
inside my chest wall. This is the year
of my first grandson, who purrs
asleep in my arms, who looks through me
with his dark eyes. I touch his soft
cheeks and his little fists shoot out
as if to catch himself.
We're all falling into the great trough,
I want to say but don't.

I can't imagine his world without
imagining the end of mine.
Who will sit in this lovely yard
and write poems? There's no doubt
someone will, someone from the dying planet
who will look over at the pines
and remember his past and smile.
The wind will blow apples
down, the autumn sun will shine,
and he'll hear the jay calling
for no reason other than to file
a complaint that the bird bath
is dry as a bone.
In the end, we all bow our heads in exile,
and prepare, in our own ways, for the fall.

~ from Michigan Poet, November 2012

Now, please leave your links with the dashing Mr. Linky below. I’m looking forward to reading all your wonderful poems, reviews, and musings this week!

Thanks so much for joining us. Please stay safe, be well, don’t forget to vote, and have a nice weekend. 🙂

the rare gift of inaugural poems

October 16, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ jama ~ 28 Comments

“The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dreams never die.” ~ Edward Kennedy

OF HISTORY AND HOPE
by Miller Williams

We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.

But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands — oh, rarely in a row —
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.
Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become —
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.

All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit — it isn’t there yet —
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.

~ from Some Jazz A While: Collected Poems (University of Illinois Press, 1999)

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