Tangerine Peel by Mary Ruefle
Oatmeal by Galway Kinnell
https://poets.org/poem/oatmeal-audio-only
Two snippets from "Poems to Lift you up" : Kevin Arnold, "One True Song"
Michael Estabrook, "Laughter"
If you Knew by Ruth Muskrat Bronson
When Giving Is All We Have by Alberto Ríos
Murmuration by Barbara Crooker
(you might enjoy this article about them in National Geographic https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/article/graphic-starling-murmurations-dazzling-ubiquitous-puzzling
not to be confused with Paul's memory of Latin, con murmur monte (Virgil)!
from Ken Nash:
from Judith: thanks to her research for poems on potatoes, she shared "Oatmeal"! She also recited for us this one, The Parsnip by Ogden Nash:
The parsnip, children, I repeat,
Is simply an anemic beet.
Some people call the parsnip edible;
Myself, I find this claim incredible.
link to hear Helen O'Connell sing Tangerine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBMbQ1VHbOc
(go to minute 3:03... the word Tangerine comes at 3:46! Quite a different sense from the poem below.
Nutshell:
Tangerine Peel: The poem poses many questions: What happens with the act of peeling? A Tangerine, the more easily peeled mandarine from Tangiers is a symbol of loyalty... but perhaps more fragile, easily prepared for its "death"... I like that peel can be both noun and a verb.
But, the puzzling "I am a scalp of myself, skinned/by my own thoughts" falls between the thought of peeling a tangerine, and its undeserved end, and an appeal poetry, quickly followed by "god of molting turkeys". After the series of pleas to save family and friends from horrible circumstances, then this idea of implications of the dictionary --which point to the fact the tangerine does not deserve to die.
No mention of the type of death... although clear there is a difference between dying, which we all must do... and being put to death... or is the fact of our eating anything, an unjust death?
Martin's take is that the first two sentences are a clever preparation the scene to discuss greater losses.
Arlene underlined the causes: accidents, fire, dust (possibly ashes of a home destroyed ), drowning...
Barbara and Susan saw an address to poetry to do the saving... which invites the idea of poetry as a "god of molting turkeys" -- as shedding old feathers, as act of transformation to a new set. Arlene thought of
"God of Molting turkeys" as one of those homemade expletives of frustration (we see in the final poem the "minced oath" of "Holy Moly".
What starts out as a possible tonge-in-cheek poem asks us to spend more time with it. Perhaps we need to say to each thing we eat, the final two words of the poem: Forgive me.
Oatmeal: although the reading didn't match exactly the copy I gave, Paul suggests that Kinnell had been having a good time at the pub... and filled us in on the fact the Kavanagh was well known for his frequentation of saloons, and although quite the fine bard, also of a highly cranky nature. He also pointed out Keats would definitely not have a cockney accent!
It is a delight to choose a subject that might well be passed by in poetry as a mundane subject... and watch the crafting to turn it into something intriguing... David helped us out with Keats... invited to share this
breakfast repast... known for his sensuosity (not to mention a certain drunken transport in the imbibed song in Ode to a Nightingale) and "To Autumn" Keats last poem, possibly completed on his deathbed.
We all enjoyed the idea of who one might invite -- whether to dinner, cocktails -- or a shared dish of oatmeal... How might that change the experience of whatever is being consumed...
Now... is this a "poem"? For sure, we agreed, the delivery was anything but poetic, slamming the lines down without a breath... But if it had been an essay on the good of having imaginary friends... even with Bernie's suggestion of adding skim milk, it would be terribly dry. We have so much fun watching Kinnell galavant about postulating about his porridge, how much better it might be with a friend, or not, and his love of Keats. Making fun of the poet's craft... how to arrange stanzas... along with delightful sounds of
adjectives for oatmeal and leftover baked potato (glutinous, gluey, lumpish, hint of slime.../damp, slippery, gummy/crumbly) how there is no sublime (aside from the rhyme with slime) indeed is a source of delight.
I expect to hear many stories from all about what you served and to whom!!
One True song: perhaps the rhyme and moralizing tone might not be for all, but we agreed, effective.
David pointed out the use of the French belles lettres and plein air emphasizes the dressing up we do with our pretensions. Judith cited Thurber both the story of the politician who so adored chicken gizzards, he served himself non-stop at a gathering where they were served -- which only to have this provide a caricature of him in the paper which lost him election... (I might have the details wrong here... but hopefully the point is made...). How do we remember people? What is our daily hard work? On the 7th day, what kind of rest?
Bernie shared the 5 remembrances of Buddhism offered by Thich Nhat Hanh in The Plum Village Chanting Book (Parallax Press, 1991):
I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.
I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.
My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.
See Dec. 1: Bernie's Guided Meditation.
Laughter: This "poem" is great material for skits to imagine the relationship between the mother and son... her worries about death, whether he is trustworthy, what makes her laugh? We had fun sharing stories on both of these poem.
If you Knew: The poet born in 1897 would have learned poetry craft. We discussed the repeated "sometimes" -- which could be ironic... or, as Bernie suggested, a realistic view of how the world is, which makes us trust it more. Yes, sometimes we smile, a little kindlier, extend a hand in friendliness. What was remarkable was the wonderful stories shared of the importance of connection with friends!
Thanksgiving in the Anthropocene: a hard poem and not one we discussed. May we forgive each other and be forgiven. Indeed.
When Giving: Rios addresses the complexity in this meditation on the word "giving". We have discussed it before, but it is always a welcome poem to read in this season.
Murmuration: I add a few more videos to see this amazing phenomenon: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=10158249375183951
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4f_1_r80RY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnpyWjkuB1U
That word "unleave". You can imagine all the starlings taking off... a perfect ekphrastic poem for what I hope you too will see.
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