Listening in the Kitchen

First off, let me just say I have a really hard time listening to poetry podcasts. If you're not careful, you'll wind up listening to someone spout off dogmatic-sounding ideas like "Edna St. Vincent Millay was all Debbie-Downer" and then you're subjected to a horrible, dramatic reading that makes you cringe all the way down to your toenails. Or at least that's how I feel and, as a result, listen almost exclusively to poets reading from their own work. 

One series I've absolutely fallen in love with is Poetry Lectures and by Poetry Foundation. Contrary to the name, you're not subjected to someone philosophizing from on high. Instead, you're typically listening to a reading by a poet or a conversation between poets with a little guidance from a host. If you're lucky, the poet is reading from their most recent work and it hasn't been published yet so you're getting a preview! You also have the chance to hear poems that are still works in progress which can be fascinating. It's a great reminder that even (or maybe especially?) the giants of poetry have to revise too. I believe they're also all unscripted so you get a peek at the actual person rather than the sleek, polished version. Check out Seamus Heaney's reading for an excellent example of this. These episodes are organized by the poet's name rather than a generic title, so if there's someone you can't stand, it's easy to filter. 

Essential American Poets (also by the Poetry Foundation) is another must-listen. Though no longer posting new episodes, the poets were selected by Donald Hall when he was Poet Laureate and you can hear some great readings by Billy Collins, Lucille Clifton, Wallace Stevens, Sharon Olds and many, many more. Like with Poetry Lectures, the poet is reading their own work. The podcast also includes a short biography before each reading which serves as a great introduction for old and new readers alike.

Poetry Off the Shelf, hosted by Curtis Fox, is good but can occasionally cross the "too much analysis" line. Set up as a conversation on a poet between the host and another poet or person-of-letters, Fox likes to right dive into "What's that line MEAN?" At it's best, you get some fascinating insight into a poet's work. At it's worst, it reminds you of those college class discussions that almost made you swear off poetry for good. Personally, it makes me want to raise my hand and interrupt - side note, it never looks good when your partner walks in on you baking bread and angrily talking over a podcast. But, that only happens occasionally. This podcast is well-worth the listen and helps me think concretely about what works and what doesn't in a poem and why I think the way I do. 

So there you have it - the podcasts that I continually have on around the house while I'm cooking, cleaning, on the subway (but not when I'm at the gym - I would fall down on the treadmill from listening too closely). It's a great way to fit in poetry when you're too busy to sit down with a book or if you just enjoy multitasking. Though you only get a new episode once a week, there are always the back episodes to browse through. I hope you enjoy and if there are any others I've left out (probably quite a lot), let me know! 

On Showing Up

After winning a prize or publishing a poem, it is very easy to identify as a poet/writer and (if you're anything like me) ride it until the wheels fall off without writing another word for two years. Sure, I've dipped my toes into the poetry pool here and there - I've attended readings, written a sporadic poem, found myself pleased in the moment with a metaphor or simile that has slipped it's way into everyday speech. But have I prioritized writing? Put a giant elephant in the middle of my living room, square in front of the TV and painted poetry across it's side in giant neon letters?  

Of course, we all know it's not just a matter of choosing one activity over another; life does get in the way. Before I moved, I was working two jobs (three, if you count dog walking) with one day off a week. One blessed day free of obligations. And do you know what I did with that day? Laundry. Grocery shopping. Reading a book. Planning my wedding. I get it, life gets extraordinarily crowded with to-do lists. 

And yet, there was always this nagging feeling that I was procrastinating and ignoring something massively important - making time to write. If you want a clean house, you make time to pick it up. Want internet access? You take fifteen minutes to pay that effing Comcast bill. If you want to quit being a lapsed poet then you need to READ and WRITE. In fact, put off paying your bills or cleaning house and write. Then, when you're done with that, put on a podcast and listen to a poetry reading while you do the dishes.

Don't believe the crap about the lonely poet in the lonely tower - that's just an excuse. Anyone can jot down a word or a thought to keep the poetry conversation going within yourself. Make it easy to do, or alternatively, incredibly difficult to choose NOT to do it. 

Yesterday, I was riding the train looking at the snow swish by the windows and I thought to myself "Gawd, we look like we're going WARP speed in here! We could be skipping whole universes!" Not a serious thought, particularly when the train is going about ten miles in hour in stop-and-go traffic, but I wrote it down on my phone and suddenly, I kept writing and out popped a short little poem. Nothing glamorous but it's there.

What I'm trying to say is that poetry, at it's heart, is about taking the time to slow down; to notice and record, to take joy or grief and write it's name in a hundred thousand different ways. Do yourself a favor and make it impossible not to show up. 

Revisions!

Birdsong is in the dishes

this March morning, grey sky 

shouldering through the open window - 

longer days a rubber band stretching 

until it snaps in late June like lightening.

Here, each lemon, each flash of a chipped, 

gold-rimmed plate a blessing of light. 

Forget your perfect offering, when you come 

back to me, tangled in wild thoughts, 

I nurse you on amber honey, soft fields 

of purple clover.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes
this March morning, grey sky
shouldering through the open window -
longer days a rubber band stretching
until it can't, late June snap like lightening.

Here, each lemon, each flash of a chipped,
gold-rimmed plate a blessing of light.
Forget your perfect offering, when you come
back to me all tangled in wild,
I nurse you on amber honey,
soft fields of yellow and gold.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes
this March morning, soap up to my elbows,
grey sky shouldering through the open window -
longer days a rubber band stretching
until it can't, late June snap like lightening.

Here, each lemon, each flash of a chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.
Forget your perfect offering, when you come
back to me tangled in wild, pollen strung
beneath your nails like gold pearls,
I nurse you on amber honey,

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
soap up to my elbows, grey sky
shouldering through the open window
like a promise of longer days -
rubber band stretching until it can't,
late June snap like lightening.

Here, each lemon peel, each flash of a chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.
Forget your perfect offering,
when you come back to me, tangled
in wild, pollen strung like gold pearls
against your skin,

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
soap up to my elbows, grey sky
shouldering through the open window
like a promise of longer days - a rubber band
stretching until it can't - late June snap
always as sudden, as unforgiving as lightening.

And when you come back to me, tangled
in wild, snow strung like iced pearls
against your skin, I am still at the sink
clutching scrubber and soap. I am reminded
to forget your perfect offering, each lemon peel,
each flash of chipped gold-rimmed plate
is a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
soap up to my elbows, grey sky
shouldering through the open window
a promise of longer days - rubber band
stretching until it can't - late June snap
always as sudden, as unforgiven as lightening.

And when you come back to me,
tangled in wild, snow strung like pearls
against your skin, I am still at the sink.
But forget your perfect offering, each lemon
peel, each flash of chipped, gold-rimmed plate
a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window
a far promise of longer days - rubber band
stretching until it can't - always the late
June snap as sudden and unforgiven as lightening.

And when you finally come back to me,
tangled in wild, snow strung like pearls
against your skin, I am still at the sink,
scrubbing as if it were my moon mission.
Well, forget your perfect offering, each lemon peel,
each flash of chipped, gold-rimmed plate
is a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window,
an anemic promise of longer days. Yet always
the late June snap and we are flung back
into half-light. But forget your perfect offering,
here, each lemon peel, each flash of chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.

***

Birdsong is in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window,
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes,
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sunlight
pouring across your garden in the riot of May.
Yet always the late June snap and we are flung back
into half-light. But forget your perfect offering,
here, each lemon peel, each flash of chipped,
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.

*** 

Birdsong in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water,
grey sky shouldering through the open window,
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes,
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sun
pouring across your garden in the riot of May.
Yet always the late June snap and we are flung
back into mouths of half-lit months. 

But forget your perfect offering, here, 
each lemon peel, each flash of chipped, 
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light. 

***

Birdsong in the dishes this March morning, 
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water, 
grey sky shouldering through the open window, 
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes, 
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sun
pouring across your garden in the riot of May. 
But forget your perfect offering, always 
the late June snap and we are flung 
back into the mouths of half-lit months. 
Here, each lemon peel, each flash of chipped, 
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light. 

***

Birdsong in the dishes this March morning,
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water, 
grey sky shouldering through the open window, 
an anemic promise of longer days. I close my eyes, 
dream of the wild tangle of blooms and sun
pouring across your garden in the riot of May. 
But forget your perfect offering, always
the late June snap and we are flung 
back into the mouths of half-lit months. 

***  FINAL

Birdsong in the dishes this morning, 
up to my elbows in soap and greasy water, 
grey sky shouldering through the open window, 
anemic. I close my eyes, dream of the wild 
tangle of blooms and sun pouring across 
your garden in the riot of May. Yet, 
always the late June snap and we are flung
back into the mouths of half-lit months. 
Forget your perfect offering - here, 
each lemon peel, each flash of chipped, 
gold-rimmed plate is a blessing of light.

copyright mdavis 2013

Granola Bars!

I got this recipe from Clean Eating - a really cool, inexpensive, non-time consuming cooking magazine. I didn't follow the recipe exactly (instead of using the specific berries they mention, I just bought a cheaper Berry Medley at Trader Joe's). I also lined the pan with wax paper so that I could just lift it out when it was done baking and I'm almost positive that made life so much easier.

So, recipe!

Makes probably about 40 granola bites
Takes about 20 minutes to throw together, 10 to 15 minutes to cut
Bake time is 25 to 30 minutes

Ingredients:
Wax paper or cooking spray for the pan
4 cups old fashioned oatmeal (aka not instant)
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 tsp cinnamon
1 egg plus 3 egg whites
1 cup unsweetened applesauce (I didn't have this, so I cut up a couple of apples and cooked them in a pan like for an apple pie, then mushed them like mashed potatoes...I have a lot of free time....)
3 tbs honey
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/3 cup chopped dried apricots
1/3 cup dried blueberries
1/4 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup unsalted slivered almonds (I used pecans from our freezer)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a roughly 11 x 8 inch baking dish, press in the wax paper (you should still have extra sticking up to grab a hold of later) or grease the pan.

In a large bowl, whisk together oats, flour and cinnamon. The better it's stirred together now, the easier this is later - you don't want chunks of flour in your granola bars.

Yummmm! Mix those cinnamon, oats and flour! 

In a medium bowl, whisk egg and egg whites. Add applesauce, honey and vanilla until smooth. 

Whisk together egg, egg whites, applesauce, honey and vanilla.

Side note, I didn't have applesauce, so I cut and peeled two apples
and cooked them a la apple pie, then mushed like mashed potatoes.

Stir this into the flour/oat/cinnamon mixture and mix it really, really well (see don't want any flour chunks.) Finally, add the measurements above, or the entire package of Berry Medley. (I originally used the measurements given, but had so little left in the package, I went ahead and dumped it all in.) Mix that well.

Next, dump all of that into the pan and press out with your fingers. Sprinkle the almonds/whatever you have on hand on top. Then, I used a second sheet of wax paper on top to really press it down firmly and get it pretty flat. Peel back that top layer of waxed paper, and it's ready to go in the oven!

Bake it for 25 - 30 minutes, until a toothpick/butter knife comes out clean (like when you bake a cake.) Mine ended up having to cook for the full 30 minutes, but it's always good to check because you would't want dry, crumbly granola bars.

Finally, when it's completely cool, lift the wax paper out of the pan. Rather than peeling it off right away, I went ahead and cut the granola bars into strips, then slowly worked them off the wax paper. I ended up making smaller squares because I was worried a whole bar would be too much weight and they'd end up breaking while you ate them. So, I made them smaller et voila! Granola bites! 

I was a little skeptical at first (they tasted a lot like flour/oatmeal the first day) but once they set overnight, I thought they tasted much better.

Hope you enjoy the recipe!!

Prompt Poem

Yesterday, I provided a link to an article on Mental Floss of the 25 happiest words in English with the idea of using any of those words as a way to get around blank page syndrom and I have to say, I really enjoyed where this exercise took me. 

Discovery is one of the foundations of poetry I love most. There is something magical and thrilling when poetry sidles up and makes us fall in love with even one of the millions of tiny observations that make up our existence. And that, my friends, is what this exercise helps us do. It trains us to write 'blind' with no overarching concept we need to get across. 

When I'm not writing with an end result in mind, I'm not constricted by "That line doesn't get at what I want to say" or the dreaded "What do I even have to write about!?!" quandary because you're writing to write rather than to reproduce an experience or emotion. However, that does not mean your poem shouldn't have a reason for being or that poems based in memory, experience and emotion aren't vitally important - some of my own best poems fall in these categories - but it is nice to break free from 'supposed to' for awhile. 

***

Revisions

Forests are opening 

Pines are opening

Pines uncurl their needles again and again, 
spring sky hazy with green


This morning, the spring sky is hazy with green,
buds sticky with being born, leaves uncurling -
a tide

This morning, the spring sky is hazy with green,
buds sticky with being born, leaves a tide
uncurling against birch, maple, oak, pine.

Here, the spring sky is hazy with green,
buds sticky with being born, leaves a tide
uncurling against birch, maple and oak.

Dearest one, nothing is easy these days, 


Here, my slice of spring sky
is hazy with green, leaves
a tide uncurling against birch
and pine. Rest easier, dearest
one, silky wind ruffles tassels 
of corn

Final

Dear John,

Dorothy May Bradford 

c. 1597 - 1620

Here, my slice of spring sky

is hazy with green; leaves

a tide uncurling against birch

and pine. Rest easier, dearest

one, gentle winds will carry

you across the water soon.

Until then, all my love.

***

As I pointed out above, I was surprised by where I ended up at the end of this exercise. I had no intention of writing a letter, let alone one based on historical events. Though I think this poem stands on it's own, I feel like it has more impact if you know the lives behind it. 

I've recently finished reading Nathaniel Philbreck's Mayflower and found the individual histories fascinating. William (author Of Plymouth Plantation) and Dorothy Bradford set out onboard the Mayflower with a 121 other passengers. Their three year old son, John, was left behind in the care of his grandparents in Amsterdam, meant to come over on a later trip once the pilgrims were established in the New World. Tragically, Dorothy died shortly after arriving and never reunited with her son. 

This small piece of history stuck with me, and in this case, I don't think I could have done it justice (if I even have here in the brief poem above) if I set out specifically to write their story. In all, I was able to use four of the twenty five words and used 'forests' as a springboard to 'birch and pine'. Most likely, I will return to it at a later date and make further revisions.

I hope it was helpful to hear one writer's process and I wish you the best of luck in your own poetry!

Prompt!

I hate prompts with a passion. I feel like they're stifling; a giant pillow smothering any nascent urge I had to write in the first place. BUT this is not your normal college prompt. There is no due date, no one telling you to use at least three words on the list and make it five lines long. This post is just to get the gears turning, keyboard typing, or pen moving. 

I love reading Mental Floss and recently stumbled across a list - 25 of the Happiest Words in English. My first thought was, wow, what a cool idea. My second was that this would be a great list to pluck words for a poem. 

I would suggest you pick a few and see where it leads. This prompt is meant to get around the whole 'blank page' syndrom - anyone can write a line using Saturday, cherry, or forests. Just take a leap, grab a word and start writing - you can always revise (my favorite part about writing) and decide, you know what, using forests sucks here. But, at least you started writing. So go on, don't be shy - write a few down, throw them around on the page. I'll post my effort later this afternoon! 

• easier
• interesting
• honest
• forests
• Saturday
• dinner
• comfortable
• gently
• fresh
• pal
• warmth
• rest
• welcome
• dearest
• useful
• cherry
• safe 
• better
• piano
• silk
• relief
• rhyme
• hi 
• agree
• water

Delicious Spinach and Pesto Grilled Cheese

I am an unabashed fan of 'fancy' grilled cheese. Tonight, my newest creation -  thin slices of extra sharp cheddar cheese, a tiny daub of brown mustard, finely chopped spinach and garlic mixed with pesto between two slices of bread. Yum. Rereading, I recognize that this may strike you as a skeptical list of ingredients, but let me assure you, the result is almost perfection.

Ingredients:
-1 cup fresh spinach leaves
- about 4 tbs pesto (I used Trader Joe's fresh stuff in the plastic tub, not the jar)
- 2 or 3 cloves of chopped garlic (more or less depending on your taste)
- spicy brown mustard
- 4 slices of whole wheat bread
- olive oil or butter to grease the pan

While listening to Poetry Off the Shelf this evening, (a podcast episode devoted to Edna St. Vincent Millay), I chopped the spinach and garlic and mixed it thoroughly with the pesto. Next, I sliced more than enough cheese for two sandwiches and decided to taste test. After munching, I spread a thick layer of the pesto mixture on one slice of bread, mustard on the other and added the cheese. Once the frying pan heats, I add a tiny splash of olive oil and roll it around the pan to give it an even coat, then add the sandwich, cheese side down so that it melts properly. While Sandwich #1 is cooking, prepare Sandwich #2.

We ate them with some leftover potato soup from last night, but I imagine these would be delicious for lunch. You could also add ingredients like apple slices, bacon, ham etc or substitute the sharp cheddar for another type of cheese like Brie, blue cheese or goat cheese. The possibilities are mouthwateringly endless for us cheese fanatics.

What are your additions?

Reciting in the Kitchen

This is the beginning of a blog on poetry and the kitchen - a place where poets can swap poems, recipes and revisions; a place of writing prompts and delicious bread. I hope to create a small, online community devoted to workshopping each others poetry and incorporating poetry into our daily lives.

If you would like to contact me with suggestions for posts, prompts or just to discuss poetry, you can either post a comment below or reach me at poetryspoon at gmail dot com. 

"Oh the busy city under the grass. / The Dark it will make of our bone-white bones." 

- Ellen Doré Watson, This Sharpening