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#22 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.

        
        photo by Cake Doctor.


Today we are counting our lucky stars because the one and only Miss Rumphius, Tricia Stohr-Hunt, is here! Quick, everybody sit up straight and pay attention (I hope you did your homework last night).

Have you been following her fabulous Poetry Maker Series this month? Wow -- is all I can say! What an impressive collection of poet interviews, beautifully presented with sample poems and lots of handy links for further exploration. I'm convinced there must be at least two of her, to be able to keep up every day while maintaining her busy teaching schedule.


 photo by SLICE OF LIME.

Some of you may know that Tricia is quite the gourmet chef. During the Christmas holidays, she supposedly bakes dozens and dozens of cookies, something ridiculous like 20+ different varieties or something. I guess there must be two of her in the kitchen, too. 


photo by Pillsbury.com.

Today, Tricia has brought two kinds of cookies -- chocolate chip (her poem) and raspberry crescents (her favorite recipe). Her poem says some interesting things about her grandmother and will definitely make you crave a warm cookie. Can you smell a batch baking right this second? Don't you love biting into a buttery cookie with lots of melty chocolate chips? Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.


 Tricia and her grandmother. © 2010 Tricia Stohr-Hunt

A Generous Baker 

I am a generous baker
My grandmother’s polar opposite
Once while reminiscing about her
Chocolate chip cookies with my great uncle
I called her a “stingy” baker
He called her frugal
I suppose anyone who raised a family
During the Depression would act so
But years later when there was money
Would it have hurt to splurge? 

I can still see her in the kitchen
The strings of her yellow flowered apron
Wrapped twice around her tiny waist
And tied in the front
Slowly folding in the contents
Stirring the dough into beautiful smoothness
Oh how I wanted a taste!
Just one finger lick
But no taste testing was allowed 

The magic ingredient--chocolate chips--
Sat in a small bowl off to the side
Almost an afterthought
Small dollops of dough were
Dropped on the cookie sheet
And three chips, no more, no less
Were placed in each cookie 

Whether driven by frugality or stinginess
They were a bittersweet childhood tre

 photo by Zen Cupcake.


Okay, time for another Poetry Potluck Oh-So-Random-Door-Prize!

Jeni Bell, come on down! (And roar, if you like)!



You've just won a brand new copy of African Acrostics: A Word in Edgeways by Avis Harley, with photographs by Deborah Noyes (Candlewick Press, 2009)!! Find out more about this Cybils finalist by reading this great review by Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Congratulations, Jeni, and thanks for hanging out with us at the Potluck! Please send your mailing address to: readermail (at) jamakimrattigan (dot) com.

**Everyone, check my upcoming Poetry Friday post for a chance to win the final Poetry Potluck door prize, which was written by our surprise guest!

See more Random Cuppie-o-Grams here.

Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan's alphabet soup. All rights reserved.

#21 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.


 © 2010 Andromeda Jazmon.

Doesn't this photograph take your breath away?

I love the intense colors, the sunlight on the petals. I also love that any time I want a dose of natural beauty, I can click over to A Wrung Sponge, and Andi (Andromeda Jazmon) will fix me right up.

Every day in April, most Poetry Fridays, and on many other days during the year, Andi will post a haiga -- a photograph paired with an original haiku. She's mastered the fine art of capturing "the essence of a moment" in both words and image. They are perfect opportunities for reflection and meditation, gentle reminders to slow down, breathe deeply, and appreciate what's around us. 

Just as Tanita loves limes, Andi is enamoured with figs. Her blog banner features a green fig from her tree, a gift from a bookclub friend. She first planted it "in the sunniest spot in my side yard and waited to see what would happen." This was her first fig experience, and through the years, as she watched the tree grow, and waited months for the green figs to ripen, she also experimented with a few fig recipes.

Today, she's brought a haiga sequence for us to feast on! It's so lovely to be privy to buds, unfurling, growth, ripening, harvest. Naturally, it's all gorgeous.

FIGS

sprung from brown sticks
little nobby green figlets;
whispered promises



hands unfold
in prayers of growing green;
slow budding fig




this fig's sweetness;
hiding flowers inside the fruit
fragrance distilled




once green and hard:
now luscious, purple figs
softly beckoning




one bite
reveals the world;
ripe figs




a soft dark shell
cradles scarlet moist seed;
heart's center

© 2010 Andromeda Jazmon. All rights reserved.

There, don't you feel refreshed and serene? Andi has now piqued my interest in figs. I've only eaten them preserved, as in Fig Newtons, but Len sometimes buys fresh figs from Whole Foods and devours them. I didn't realize the fig "fruit" is actually the flower of the tree. Flowers and seeds grow together to form a single mass -- and the flowers are never visible because they bloom inside the fruit/bulb. Pretty cool, no?

                

Don't forget about the Poetry Book Giveaway organized by Kelli Agodon at Book of Kells. There are 50 bloggers participating in this wonderful multi-blog giveaway, which is open to poetry lovers around the world. Leave a comment at as many of the listed blogs as you please for a chance to win the featured poetry collections. I'm excited to discover lots of new-to-me poets!

Deadline for all giveaways is Friday, April 30th. If you've commented at alphabet soup any time this month, you are automatically entered to win a copy of The Poet's Cookbook or The Alchemist's Kitchen. For more about these books, see this post.

#20 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.



             
       photo by Rolland Glass.

For Tanita S. Davis, love is spelled, "L-I-M-E."

The girl is wild about them, "in ANYTHING and everything." Now, prior to this Potluck, it would never have occurred to me that she might want to dive into that vase to get at those limes, one sassy slice at a time. But after reading her poem, I suspect her refrigerator is full of limes, her bed, lined with them, her dreams, haunted by them. Splash!

      

Thanks to Tanita, I've gained new respect for these little green fruit. Oh, how I've callously overlooked them in my naive tunnel-vision of lemon love! My knowledge of limes is limited to a few Mexican food rendezvous, a passing glance at a Margarita.

Tanita was wise to them from childhood, when she and her brother ate them "just out of the skin, because we're weird like that." 

        
             photo by verabee.

The ultimate proof of Tanita's lime love? She wrote a rondeau redoublé -- a difficult, rigorous, always challenging French poetic form (beautifully explained here by Kelly Fineman, and recently presented by the Poetry Princesses). There's line repetition, doubling back, coming full circle, a taunt and a tease -- like the best of love affairs. 

Tanita: I am charmed by the redoublé form. It's only hard (to write) for the first hour or so. This poem could also be an ode to a particularly snarky person -- limes, people -- it's all the same, when it comes down to it. ;)


 photo by libraryman.

AN ODE TO THE LIME

I am beguiled; I need more than a taste --
I'm piqued and palpitating from your wiles,
Your hint of sweet with caustic interlaced,
Brings winces -- but you also bring a smile.

You stand alone above the rank and file,
Your presence felt can never be erased,
You coyly tease the senses with your guile
I am beguiled; I need more than a taste!

And when against your harshness I am braced,
I find your sweetness wider by a mile.
You shine at every gathering you grace!
I'm piqued and palpitating from your wiles.

Your scent intoxicates, the bite worthwhile
To reeling senses sourness has traced.
Acidic, twist, it lingers for awhile,
Your hint of sweet. With caustic interlaced,

Your piquan

 photo by Miss Cupcakery.


It's time to crown another Poetry Potluck Oh-So-Random-Door-Prize winner!

Tanita S. Davis, come on down!! (Or, in your case, swim on over!)

      

You've just won a brand new copy of Come to the Castle by Linda Ashman, illustrated by S.D. Schindler (Roaring Brook Press, 2009)! I hope you're in the mood for a bawdy Medieval feast! For a couple of sample poems from the book, see my Poetry Friday post here.

Congratulations, Tanita, and thanks for coming to the Potluck! Please send your mailing address to: readermail (at) jamakimrattigan (dot) com.

**Stay tuned for more random door prizes as we celebrate the final week (sob) of National Poetry Month. All commenters are eligible to win!

Have a great week, everyone!

#19 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.

        
        "Tea with Rosebuds in Romantic Cup" by Michael Paul.
         (Available as a print here.)

You're just in time for a cup of tea!

Now, if I said, "Jane Austen," "poetic forms," "dead white poets" and garden gnomes, whom would you think of?

Kelly Fineman of course! Like me, you're probably a fan of Writing and Ruminating, where Kelly displays her literary brilliance on a daily basis. For almost three years, I've been reading her amazing blog and I'm not bragging one bit when I say that as a result I'm much smarter ☺. *basks in newfound intelligence*

When it comes to poetry, Kelly knows her stuff. When she features a poem, there's usually a detailed explication, a bit of backstory, personal notes, even illuminating digression. Yes, Kelly loves to digress . . .

For the Potluck, she sent a sonnet about her grandfather's chair. It was prompted by a weekly writing exercise she did with her writing partner, Angela De Groot. They were to begin with, "His chair . . . "

Kelly: The chairs in my dining room belonged to my grandparents, and his chair still sits at the head of the table every night. Interestingly, hubby prefers an armless chair, so it's as if my grandfather has his own place still, even though he died about 25 years ago.


Grandfather's Chair © 2010 Kelly Fineman.

HIS CHAIR

His chair -- the one he sat in when he ate --
Remains his chair a quarter century
After he died, though nobody but me
Realizes this is true; at any rate,
My husband and children, who came too late
Into my life, have no idea that he
Is present at our meals each night as we
Inhabit lesser chairs. No empty plate
Is set (as if Elijah might attend --
It strikes me that St. Paul's a better choice)
I'm certain that they could not comprehend
How large his presence was -- more than his voice
Could fill a room -- his laugh, even his breath,
Live in my memory long past his death.

© 2010 Kelly R. Fineman. All rights reserved.

What a lovely reflection! I like imagining Kelly with this private thought as she sits for dinner. Aren't family heirlooms fascinating? Her sonnet reminded me of visiting Jane Austen's home in Chawton. Interestingly enough, the chairs in the dining room were also "lesser chairs" -- four women sat at this table: Jane, her sister, Cassandra, Jane's mother, and their long-time family friend, Martha Lloyd. Talk about a large presence filling a room! I can just picture Kelly sitting at the table with these ladies and chatting about the events of the day. Kelly, if you could ask Jane just one question, what would it be?

#18 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.


 Penny Candy Store in McCloud, CA by mlhradio.

Just for today, let's go to an old fashioned candy store!

What would you like? How about some root beer barrels, salt water taffy, red hots, sour balls, or peppermint sticks? Maybe some licorice, Smarties, gumballs, Gummi Bears or wax lips? Don't forget the Mary Janes, Bit-o-Honey, fireballs, and caramels!


 mosaic by simplyembellish.

Can't decide? Me neither. So many colors, shapes, sizes, and textures -- hard, chewy and crunchy. I just want something to last as long as possible ☺. Good thing Laura Salas has dropped by with a special poem about the quintessential childhood candy, lollipops!

"Yum!" is an unused poem Laura wrote for the collection, Lettuce Introduce You: Poems About Food (Capstone, 2008).

         

I imagine after today, "Yum!" will get lots of licks and love. If we're extra nice, maybe Laura's daughter Maddie will share her lollipop.



YUM!

I'm swallowing lemony yellow.
I'm craving light blueberry blue.
The red's cherry bright,
Lime green is just right,
And orange tastes like summer days do!

This lollipop's big as my lunchbox.
Each color is perfectly swirled.
It's sweet and it's slick,
And with each slurpy lick,
I feel like I'm eating the world!

© 2010 Laura Purdie Salas. All rights reserved.

I love how Laura's captured that "kid in a candy shop" elation. My favorite line is "orange tastes like summer days do." Now, while we're on a sugar high, check out Laura's recipe for Brickle. She admits both she and Maddie are not into cooking, but every year at Christmas they always make some Brickle. A nice family tradition, don't you think? At first glance, you might think one of the ingredients is a little strange. Here's what Laura had to say about the recipe:

I know this recipe sounds weird. If I had read the recipe before tasting it (it was a holiday gift from a neighbor one year), I never would have tried it. So your readers will have to trust my sweet tooth and give it a go. It's better than Skor bars.



LAURA AND MADDIE'S BRICKLE

Ingredients:

40 Saltines
2 sticks butter
1 cup brown sugar
12 oz. chocolate chips
slivered almonds

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 400.
2. Cover cookie sheet with foil and spray with Pam.
3. Spread Saltines in single layer.
4. On stove, melt butter and brown sugar.
5. Bring to full boil and cook 3 minutes, stirring constantly.
6. Remove and pour over crackers.
7. Bake for 5 minutes.

             
               photo by jessedharris.

The previously announced string quartet polished off all of Pat's buns, Sara's biscuits, Jeannine's Hermit Cookies, and Elaine's Almond Gateau. They also inhaled five of Julie's tortas and a raft of Susan's Chanterelle and Goat Cheese puffs. Is it any wonder they're now horizontal and in no condition to perform for you?

Luckily, the jazz musicians are here! Not just any jazzies, mind you, but my all-time favorite Brazilian composer, Antonio Carlos Jobim (a.k.a. Tom Jobim). I never tire of listening to "Wave." This video was taken at the 1986 Montreal Jazz Festival. Sip a little wine, have some cheese, relax and enjoy!

#15 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.


 photo by nobleup.

Why, yes. That would be Jeannine Atkins up there waving to us from atop that airplane. Of all our Potluck guests, Jeannine knows best how to make a dramatic entrance. And she's not fashionably late or anything, which is quite surprising considering she had to travel back in time to bring us the two amazing women who appear in her poem: Laura Ingalls Wilder and Rose Wilder Lane.

Today, Jeannine is sharing an excerpt from her recently released verse biography, Borrowed Names. You may remember my singing its praises on its official pub day. Since then, it has earned yet another *starred review*, this time from Horn Book! We're absolutely thrilled for this author/poet/professor who dares to defy publishing odds against poetry and historical fiction. Just as Rose Wilder Lane once flew over San Francisco Bay strapped to the wing of an airplane, these days Jeannine Atkins is flying high on well-deserved praise.

I'll let Jeannine tell you all about her poem and recipe:

      

My new book, Borrowed Names: Poems about Laura Ingalls Wilder, Madam C. J. Walker, Marie Curie, and their Daughters (Holt) has three parts. I chose a poem about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her only child, Rose, since Jama has written some great posts about the Little House books and their incarnation on television.

This poem is from the end of the section, written as if from the point of view of Rose. She left the Missouri farmhouse to go farther west than Pa Ingalls, her grandfather, ever did – Rose lived for years in California – then toured much of Europe and the Middle East as a journalist. Eventually Rose came back home and typed and rather heavily edited the beloved books Laura wrote by hand into orange-covered notebooks.

Who can discuss any kind of writing without mentioning procrastination? So here’s a take on that, which includes a dessert.


photo by VinciiWincii.

 

Not Today,

Mama says, There’s too much housework.
 

Please. Do not get sidetracked

by shirts that need pressing.

There will always be fine grime

on the china on the mantel,

corn to husk, cherries to pit, apples to core.

Ignore them. The dream begun under a tree

is sweeter than stories you tell yourself

over dirty dishes.

Life tempts most away from paper and pen,

but gently bring yourself back.

Who can resist gingerbread

#12 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010.


 Apple and chocolate-covered espresso bean smiley face by Mary Lee Hahn.

Class, did you bring an apple for the teacher today?

What, your dog ate it?

Have no fear: Mary Lee Hahn is here! It's way cool to have an apple from the teacher today, especially from this teacher. Every time I read another one of Mary Lee's blog posts, I wish I could be in her class. She always seems to be cooking up such fun and interesting projects for her students. Mmmmmmm! Do I smell cinnamon?



APPLE CRISP

Sour apples,
thinly sliced.
Butter, sugar,
oats.

From hot oven,
smells entice
and titillate your
nose.

Tart is sweet now,
slightly spiced,
Add heavy cream, hear
"Oh!"s.

© 2010 Mary Lee Hahn. All rights reserved.

Don't you love the "sliced," "entice" and "spiced" tucked in the middle of each stanza? Kind of like sweet filling in a pie. ☺

Apple Crisp is one of those classic heart-and-home kind of desserts that instantly makes guests feel welcome. It's like the gift of grandma, crisp fall days, and happy school times rolled into one. It's never pretentious, easy to prepare, and always satisfying. It also allows one to be creative and experimental. Everyone seems to have his/her own version of crisp -- nuts? oatmeal? raisins? honey or brown sugar? And then, of course, is the all-important topping -- whipped cream? vanilla ice cream? warm caramel sauce? or like in Mary Lee's poem, heavy cream?

Mary Lee's recipe comes from the Pillsbury Kitchens' Family Cookbook (1979). In true teacher style, she's added some wonderful footnotes (love, love them!). Read over carefully because there might be a quiz at the end. Enjoy! ☺

APPLE CRISP

6 cups (6 medium) peeled¹, sliced cooking apples
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon water
¾ cup firmly packed brown sugar
½ cup Pillsbury’s Best® All Purpose, Unbleached or Self Rising Flour²
½ cup rolled oats
1 teaspoon cinnamon, if desired³
½ cup margarine or butter⁴ 

Heat oven to 375°F. Place apples in 8 or 9-inch square pan⁵. Sprinkle with lemon juice and water. In small bowl, combine remaining ingredients until crumbly; sprinkle over apples. Bake at 375°F. for 40-45 minutes or until apples are tender. 6 servings.<sup>6  

                          &nbs</sup>

            
           Mango and Ginger Sorbet by cindychae.


"Poetry is all that is worth remembering in life." ~ William Hazlitt

Hope you're having a beautiful Sunday!

#11 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2010

                  

Sometimes the nicest things happen by accident.

Not too long ago, in one of my relentless searches for good food poems, I stumbled upon Susan Rich's "A Poem for Will, Baking." It brought me to my knees, as I remembered losing my aunt and my cousin's grief. The poem also resonated with many of you, and later I was pleasantly surprised to hear from Susan herself.

When she asked whether we could combine forces for National Poetry Month, I knew she would be a perfect surprise guest. She's written other food poems, some of which are included in her new book, The Alchemist's Kitchen (White Pine Press, 2010). What I didn't know was how succinctly her chosen "potluck poem" would define the provocative relationship between food and poetry.

Sometimes you're hungry for something, but don't know what. You search for words to feed your soul. Beyond the sheer musicality of food names is their inherent sensuality, the way they instantly trigger fond memories, their uncanny ability to tap into yearning and unearth deep-seated emotions. The chanterelle mushroom is shaped like a trumpet; the term, "chanterelle" is derived from the Latin cantharellus, which means, "little cup." I love how Susan's poem, like a lovingly prepared, well orchestrated meal, fills me to the brim with its nourishing song of pure bliss.


 photo by KarmenRose.

CHANTERELLE

Perhaps consider poetry
a gourmet grocery shop,

endless pyramids of
shape-shifting fruit:

persimmon, star flower, pomegranate --

and across the aisle
in hand-woven oval baskets:

Vietnamese coriander,
Thai basil, Chinese leaves.

Experiment without knowing
the exact region where

the pomegranate is grown
the pronunciation of the Chinese leaf.

But don't set out to deceive
the check-out girl;

you can't pretend that you're
a kumquat or a chanterelle.

And get away with it.

Instead, practice rapture --
and inquisitiveness, pose

a question to the golden
beet, the artichoke heart;

engage with a yellow fin.
The page relies

on the clean attempt
to move beyond the safe way.

Where is the ineffable?

Bring home a mango
polish it with Kosher salt.

~ from The Alchemist's Kitchen (White Pine Press).
   © 2010 Susan Rich. All rights reserved.

Here is what Susan had to say about her new book and "Chanterelle":

Jama, thank you so much for featuring my book, The Alchemist's Kitchen, and for asking me about my collection which is just out this month. As is implied by the title, there are several poems here concerning food, mixed drinks, and even a grocery store. For over a year, every time I wrote a poem, an almond cake or a pomegranate, a dreamsicle or perhaps dark chocolate, would wind up making its way into a stanz