Poetry post

There are many things I miss about varsity, and as TSC embraks on his studies, I am reminded of this. One of the things I really enjoyed when I was at UCT was a poetry seminar given by Stephen Watson. I have always written poetry, but he taught me about rhythm and style and introduced me to poetry masters.

One of the poems we studied that struck a chord with me was Pablo Neruda's Ode to Tomatoes:
Here it is, translated from the original Spanish:

The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera,
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it’s time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth,
recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its giftof fiery color
and cool completeness.

We were asked to write a similar ode to an everyday object. Here is mine that I wrote then, followed by one written this morning:

Ode to the Coat Hanger

King
Of the cupboard
Is the coat hanger,
That great isosceles triangle
Who
Forces clothes into
Neat rows
And dictates wardrobe hierarchy.
A knight -
Guardian of our most precious wear:
Christening gown,
Wedding dress
And cherished Levi low-cuts.
With metal claw,
He rules each one,
Captain Hook coat hanger.
When disaster strikes,
Our wiry hero
Bends to
Lend his tongue,
Slipping it through
The vehicle door
To rescue
Stranded keys.
Never do his shoulders sag.
Sturdily he bears
The weight
We lay.
Yet
Timid is our
Helpful friend,
And content to take his
Quiet place
On a dark and
Hidden
Rack.

Ode to my pillow

Every morning as I wake
Your softness caresses my cheek,
Warm.
Tender.
Silent.
And at the long day's finish
You wait for me under the covers,
To cradle my tired head
And listen to my breathing ease.

When trouble comes to visit me
I turn to your embrace,
Clutching at you desperately,
Holding you close and
Staining your pale face
With my own tears.
And yet you stay.
Cushioning the blows,
Comforting me.

As my day draws out like a long, winding thread,
My thoughts turn to you and I long to return to our bed.

I'd love it if any of you were to take a bash at writing a poem of praise to an everyday object in my comments section or on your blogs. And if you have any favourite poems, please do share!

Post-valentine poem

On 14 Feb the world turns red
With hearts and ruby wine.
Come 15 Feb the rumpled bed
Bared of sweet Valentine.

One day a year the florists cheer,
The gift shops make their play,
So men can leer and shed no tear
As they have the girls their way.

Bought for a bit of heart-shaped sweet,
A candle or a frame,
The silly girls, like fresh-cut meat
Join in this silly game.

And when, at last, they wake to shame,
Conveniently they lay the blame.



This poem has absolutely nothing to do with my Valentine's Day. Hubby and I had a lovely champagne and sushi picnic, perfect and relaxed. But I do remember back to highschool days, when we'd send roses to the boys' school and vice versa. The boys just wanted to hook up and the girls just wanted to not be alone on Valentine's day. I wrote this poem thinking about how grateful I am that I'm not still in that cycle!