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Writer's pictureBrennan

GWW - Booth #2: A Trio of Food Poems

In the Booth, we submit work for evaluation and critique by our classmates, as well as the instructor. The classmates' comments appear before the instructor's comments below, and are uncredited to protect their identities. Here's the second of two - a collection of poems which you may recognize from elsewhere in the blog.


Note: This actually was the catalyst for Savor: Poetry for the Tongue, which is still accepting submissions (more information here).

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wooden spoon tapping on the rim of the dutch oven

sharp raps in time to the aching, self-destructive nihilism of Justin Townes Earle soaring from

the bluetooth speaker

he's singing about Lady Day in her "white dress, white shoes, white gardenias"^2

our Queens apartment sticky in summer heat and aerosolized schmaltz

seared chicken thighs fatty and rich

steeped in garlic and onion

sweating down in olive oil and butter^3

burgundy and stock

intertwined like your fingers

your arms around my waist from behind while I stir a nascent sauce piquant

your body pressed into mine

swaying softly to wistfully oozed remembrances of a woman JT never met

and reminders that she left her heart in Baltmore 'cuz she couldn't stop the bleedin'

warmth and sweat matting shirt to skin

your cheek rests mid-back

and while I can’t see your face,

I know your eyes are softly closed, lips curled in peaceful rest

tomato, bay leaf, and red pepper undulating

clenching, twirling, caressing, engulfing, and finally releasing^4

a kizomba no less passionate than our own

delicately pinching kosher salt between my fingertips to cascade down down down

grinding warm peppercorn into the foaming pungency below

a tickle of crushed pepper heightens the senses^5

the golden tan thighs glistening with briny heat

you lick the sauce from my fingertip, pretending I offered it for your seasoning palate

perfection is, as he swoons, apparent if ineffible:

"you might not know her now, but you'll know her when you see her:

white dress, white shoes, white gardenias"

-------------------------------------------------


if i had to give You the tangible

metaphorical^6 representation of my love

it would be a single yellow onion

unsophisticated and coarse, pedestrian

superficially thin and fragile

paper-skin cracked and torn

falling away without resistance^7


at first its pungency is acrid

bitter, overwhelming

breaking it down brings tears

stings


raw, it polarizes, sometimes endears, sometimes offends

with a little love, and a little butter

it softens, mellows, becomes translucent

lets a little light through but remains hazy, mysterious

one-note, but it’s a good note

versatile

a workhorse

good not great

satisfying not fulfilling

tasty not decadent

can take a beating

high heat or low and slow

wet or dry

makes everything else a little better^8


but with patience

arms-sore-from-stirring-to-prevent-burning-over-low-heat-for-5-hours-straight-no-stops-no-

rest

but no burning

wondering why You’re doing this

wondering whether the prodigious, consuming effort required is worth it in the end

with time

with coaxing

with finesse and a little more butter

heat builds invisibly

breaks down

transforms

lava-hot; burns Your mouth but You can’t bear to stop tasting it

sweet-complex-deep-tender-sticky-heady

incomprehensible that it had been a

single

yellow

onion^9

-------------------------------------------------


my daddy’s gumbo is magic

the cauldron from which it gurgles and steams Jekyll-and-Hyde in its duality

crusty-rough on the outside

oil-slick smooth and glass within

the alchemy begins^10


flour: soft, common, white like so many ancestors who likewise met and intermingled with

the fat, rich, and European

to form a roux, a bind, a culture

and like those lily-white ancestors of mine who hardened, darkened, and deepened with

exposure to the southern heat

the lily-white hardens, darkens, and deepens with exposure to heat elsewhere derived

with constant agitation and relentless disruption, they grew complex and subtle

and nuttier with time

the base elements grow heated as more brown appears


the stirring quickens –

in one, because of burning

in another, to prevent it


and if, like the James Beard-winner who absentmindedly dipped in a finger to taste for

seasoning, you happen to come into contact with the chocolate magma

your skin bounds to the forefront of your mind, the center of your consciousness

for whether this roux is of a racial or culinary origin

the sloughing of that lily-white is painful


the recognition of its blandness made magic by the introduction of heat and color

the realization that alone, it is mere pabulum, made glorious by the Other^11


to understand the power of that lily-white, undeserved and ungainly

we must dip our pinky into the roiling face of the modern South

and be burned anew

again

and again

starting over from scratch, new white to again meet heat and color


because only when the alchemy achieves its darkened objective can the Trinity do its work

in that ancient pot well-worn with prolonged exposure to the flame

its exterior rough, surly, curt like its history

its interior shiny and bright

forward-looking with promise of alchemical wonders

inextricable


End Notes

1 Wonderful title - two entities (sauce piquant, white gardenias) that I'd have never expected to find paired together.

2 This is neither a criticism nor a suggestion, but just a notation that these early references - an explicit one to an artist who was a little outside the mainstream, and a reference to an iconic artists but using terms that probably only her more ardent fans recognize - do potentially freeze out some readers right from the start. And that's ok, of course: a literary effort needn't be for everyone, and plenty of readers feeling a bit lost at this point may persevere because they're now curious - and drawn in by your rich imagery. And fans of Earle or Billie Holiday will surely be hooked. But it's a calculated risk. The more effort you require of your readers, especially early in a work, the more limited your audience may be. And if this were a concern, a way to balance could be to also include a more widely recognized reference somewhere earlier in your verse.

3 The weaving through steam/sultry imagery, both in the air of your apartment and the cooking process itself, works nicely here.

4 I like this line, as sort of a bond that connects the embrace the two of you are experience with the embrace of these sauce ingredients. It's an interesting way to consider the chemical reactions that occur between people, and with what's on the stove top.

5 Nice...

6 I'm not even sure you need this. The word "representation" and the way the rest of this verse unfolds, we understand it's a metaphor, and perhaps enjoy it more without having it spelled out.

7 A great job here describing one fixed quality of an onion as an action, or a kind of action, that this quality causes - that onion skin naturally falls away like this. It's a very effective metaphor, indeed.

8 Great rhythm here - this succession of short, almost blunt, descriptors leading to this redeeming blanket statement about onions (and workhorses).

9 Just terrific!

10 This recurring theme I'm liking in each of these poems.

11 Very well-crafted


Classmate Comments:

Brennan, thank you for sharing your skillfully written and personal poems. I really enjoyed reading a different approach to food. What I loved most about them was the entanglement of your love for food and for the person you are writing the poem for. It felt like it can not be separated but also cherished both those loves individually. My favorite lines are:

and while I can’t see your face,

I know your eyes are softly closed, lips curled in peaceful rest

tomato, bay leaf, and red pepper undulating

clenching, twirling, caressing, engulfing, and finally releasing

a kizomba no less passionate than our own

delicately pinching kosher salt between my fingertips to cascade down down down

grinding warm peppercorn into the foaming pungency below

a tickle of crushed pepper heightens the senses

the golden tan thighs glistening with briny heat

I can't really suggest anything, I loved your poems.


Hi Brennan, I am a complete novice at poetry, but your skill with words is unmistakable. The metaphors that you draw with food are apt and insightful. I found myself remembering lines from your poems long after I read them. I think your writing is wonderful!


Good morning Brennan I really love your poetry. You are such a great poet. I like it when you compared your love to an onion. You are very skilled at expressing yourself through food


Hi, Brennan. Your poems surprised me, in a positive way. The subjects are complex, not simple description but integrated emotional responses. That's what good poems should do. Some places can be trimmed, others revised to focus on showing rather than telling. For example, why repeat "My daddy's gumbo" in the first line after the reader has just read those words in the title? Perhaps start the first line with "is." When you find yourself repeating prepositions, such as "with," consider dropping the repetition and using a compound series following the first "with"; you can use spacing to represent the missing with, if you like for a more visual representation. Do you write poetry regularly? We can talk more privately. I'm teaching a 3-week poetry writing class this May, if you are interested in sitting in.


Hi Brennan, I really loved your poems. The "Yellow Onion" is my favourite. Thank you very much for sharing with us!


Hi Brennan. Thanks for sharing this with us! It's nice to read poems. I really loved "My Daddy's Gumbo." I like the connections between the recipe, your roots and the history of the south. Really beautiful and rich images, and very fun to read out loud. My favorite lines:

the cauldron from which it gurgles and steams Jekyll-and-Hyde in its duality /

flour: soft, common, white like so many ancestors who likewise met and intermingled

with the fat, rich, and European

to form a roux, a bind, a culture

and like those lily-white ancestors of mine who hardened, darkened, and deepened with

exposure to the southern heat /

the stirring quickens –

in one, because of burning

in another, to prevent it"


Hi Brennan, I wasn't expecting to read poetry tonight; this has been a pleasant surprise! Of all of them, my favorite poem is "A Single Yellow Onion." I could read odd lines and even lines separately, and it felt like you had crafted two different poems (one for the onion, one for your love) skillfully merged into one. One little thing: some lines were a bit too long and the heavy use of dashes to make compound words weighed the strength of the line down.


Hi Brennan, I really don't read a lot of poetry, but I thoroughly enjoyed your work. Thank you for sharing and I don't have any tips for you my friend. I will say an onion is a truly wonderful piece of food that can be used in so many ways. It's got layers.


Instructor Comments:

Brennan, I'm very glad you chose verse for your Booth submissions. Writing about food can take countless forms, and there's a longstanding tradition in the world of writing for a literary approach to what we eat, grow, cook, and procure. As is my usual habit, I haven't read anyone else's comments yet, but I'm looking forward to doing so.


Your verse, some of it incredibly imaginative and powerful, draw me in throughout. For me, so often, it was the shorter lines (or succession of short lines) that really landed:

"bitter, overwhelming

breaking it down brings tears

stings"

-

"the fat, rich, and European

to form a roux, a bind, a culture"


I appreciate that in all three of these passages, you draw on the transformative qualities of cooking to describe human transformation both on a personal scale (in the first two, as love between two people) and on a broader societal scale in the third. I found myself better able to relate to the the second and third poems. The second, in particular, feels relatable on almost a universal way, as a meditation on what it feels like to experience love. As I noted in one of my bluemark comments, the first is clearly more personal - and probably means more to readers who also share your appreciation of Justin Townes Earle, but it's still ultimately accessible.


And your third piece, although it strikes me as uniquely powerful if coming at it from the perspective of growing up white in Louisiana/Mississippi, offers plenty of food for thought whatever one's own personal story. Given that the food writing and publishing community is grappling increasingly with issues related to race, food origins, and culture, your reflections here about gumbo and roux feel especially relevant.


Thank you for opening our minds and challenging us a bit with these expressive, thoughtful literary works. I greatly enjoyed these!

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