Food and Poetry Week 2
Crazy About Her Shrimp by Charles Simic
“We don’t even take time
To come up for air.
We keep our mouths full and busy
Eating bread and cheese
And smooching in between.”
This opening stanza sets a tone of overwhelming desire to consume, in a manor that becomes all consuming. The play between sexuality and food I think is delivered best in the last two lines, as you picture a scene both erotic and a little gross.
“While I chop the hot peppers,
She grins at me”
This feels like a silent communication, a secret message passed between peppers and a smile.
“How good the wine tastes
That has run red
Out of a laughing mouth!
Down her chin
And on to her naked tits.”
I really love how many references to joy there are, the kisses, the smiles, the laughter, it all reads as though the author is truly living every one of his desires with this person.
‘I’m crazy about her shrimp!’
I shout to the gods above.”
In a moment in which she criticizes herself, the author thanks the gods that he is privileged to be with her. This feels like the romance of fairy tales. Also, the shrimp as a metaphor for her body writes perfectly into the pre-existing idea of desire and consumption.
HOT by Craig Arnold
“friendships based on food are rarely stable.
We should have left ours at the table”
This idea of “leaving it at the table” is applied in many contexts, here it is implied as a table one does not return to. What is it about food that creates instability in relationships according to this author?
“where it began, and went to seed,
that appetite we shared, based less in need
than boredom – always the cheapest restaurants,
Thai, Szechuan, taking our chance”
It Invokes memories (mostly recent) of hunting down the best cheap restaurants in Olympia with my friends and roommates, usually they’re in the category of teriyaki, ramen, or curry, the spicier the better.
“entrees? – the first to break a sweat
would leave the tip”
“I won’t be hurt
if you don’t want seconds. It’s not as hot
as I would like to make it, but
you always were a bit of a lightweight.
Here, it’s finished, try a bite.
He holds a forkful of the crisp
green shreds for me to take. I swallow, gasp,
choke- pins and needles shoot
through mouth and throat, a heat so absolute
as to seem freezing. I know better than
to try and wash it down with ice water
– it seems to cool, but only spreads the fire –
I can only bite my lip and swear
quietly to myself, so caught
up in our old routine – What? This is hot?“
I love this, an unspoken contest to survive the spice. I love spicy foods but I was not built for them, I can relate to the suffering of the author. My roommate can withstand much higher heat that I, but I always make sure to get a taste their food, just in case.
“He stares at me, the hollows
under his eyes more prominent than ever.
– I don’t eat much these days. The flavor
has gone out of everything, almost.
For the first time it’s not a boast.”
The use of italicized lines really changes the overall tone of the piece, while there are many unspoken moments, the speech presented in this format feels deeper, even darker in some places.
THE EDIBLE BODY, a poetry chapbook: Food and Sex as Pleasure, Disorder, and Commodity by Lena Judith Drake
NOTE: I am pulling two poems from this longer collection of work to look at more closely but the whole work is relevant to my project.
Age Lines
“i am not old.
a slice of american cheese, drooping edges,
in the palm of my hand. zigzags
from the new squirt-bottle mayonnaise–
so different from my mother’s
runny uncooked eggs and vinegar–
forging perfect white patterns on bright yellow,”
Imagery of foods that are yellow, soft, runny, uncooked invoke the ideas of youth, beginnings, and freshness.
“i rest,
a piece of bread and peanut butter
in the palm of my hand.
then he slaps my hand up against my face.
the crunch of sticky peanuts,
the crunch of my nose bones.
his laughing. the blood making boulevards
along the bread.
we will marry within the year.”
A confusing mash of emotions and metaphors that depict violence, humor, love, connection, overall leaving me just sad? I enjoy this section in its writing very much but I feel bad for this girl. All these poems are based off interviews.
“i am too old.
i get powdered sugar, white like my veil, on me,
and he fits his whole mouth around my chin,
suctioning the sweetness,
pulling my jaw. i push
on his shoulders, but his weight is heavy.
my chin turns purple and black, swells
and protrudes like royalty,
and every night he calls me princess.”
This poem starts sweet, and gets darker, darker, darker, as it progresses, having some passages, like this one, that feel haunting in their imagery. I can feel the disgust, the control issues at play, I am physically uncomfortable while reading at the thought of being in the presence of this man.
“i am too old for acne,
but i rub grease on my chin. clogged pores
will do something.
he would never put his mouth, his hands
on anything unclean.”
Love Sonnet from Armin Meiwes, cannibal
I cannot describe this one properly, here are my highlights. Horrific, graphic, compelling.
“My nipples look forward to your stomach.”
— Bernd Juergen Brandes, willing victim
“Since entering prison, I have become a vegetarian, and vomit every day.”
“When we made love there,
parts of you swelled,
the insides waiting to be outsides, your left eyebrow permanently arched, some of you spilled
already, white on sheets, then aging gray.”
“I wanted to devour you, lover. In both slippery hands, I held
your cold medicine, your one-hundred proof Schnäpse, your sleeping pills, your benzocaine
spray,
until you were ready to bleed in my bathtub.”
“Flesh of my flesh. When I scrape myself raw, it is you that gently covers me–
isn’t this unity? love eternal?”
The Traveling Onion by Naomi Shihab Nye
“When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,”
I enjoy this worship of the onion, relevant in both historical and personal contexts. And then we could look at the multiple contexts the onions journey could be taken in, are we looking at its evolutionary journey to the product we now have today? Are we thinking about its geographical journey to populate our homelands, or perhaps the same theory but from farm to table? In any regard there is much to be grateful for in an onion.
“the way the knife enters onion
and onion falls apart on the chopping block,
a history revealed”
Not to sound like I’m quoting shreck or anything, but I can almost picture the layers of an onion depicting the passage of time, the complexity of worlds.
“And I would never scold the onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.”
I enjoy the personification of the onion that these lines envokes, the onion feels in some way like a small child still learning emotions, or an animal aware but not understanding. The onion is innocent, while it may cause a tear or two, it is really not fault of its own.
“How at meal, we sit to eat,
commenting on texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
disappear.”
The poor onion. The basis of many meals, the most overlooked ingredient. My mother told me a Haynes woman puts a whole onion in every meal. Do not let her be forgotten amongst the crowd.
Poetry Writing
Over the last two weeks I have written three pieces I quite like, and though they are all in the revision phase, I am particularly excited about Gods in My Kitchen. I have been having them revised by friends and class peers over the weekend and this week but I want to make sure I have more time to revise these before I move on to my last two weeks of content, so I have a revising point on Monday of week 8 to look them over with my poetry professor.
I didn’t fully click with poetry writing until a few months ago, although I have taken several creative writing classes, and I’m pretty sad it took this long because I would have incorporated it into much more of my work. Many of my readings over the few years, and more recently the last few weeks, have made me curious to explore the topic of food and sex, but I have always had that very teenage-like comfortability thinking about working on a project centered around the topic of sexuality or erotica. These readings may have been what I needed to get over that fear and dedicate my last quarter to something I have been curious about for some time.
My most recent piece Bitter Rains is still very rough, and though it is not based on any one piece I felt very inspired to write it after finishing my collection of poetry readings. I may add one more poem to the final collection as I started something I really like, I am just having a really hard time coming up with a finished product I like. I will admit I spent probably 6-7 hours working on this unfinished piece so I would really like to have it completed for my final presentation. This is giving me a better idea of how my final project will shape up and honestly, I am excited for this explorative portfolio of my relationship with food.