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NOTE TO SELF: Is this story kosher?


Perhaps it's just the cynic in me but I find this a little hard to swallow.

Jones Soda Co., a Seattle-based purveyor of offbeat fizzy water, is selling holiday-themed limited-edition packs of flavored sodas. What makes this story intriguing is that they are proposing a ham-and-latke-flavored soda.

Talk about trying to be everything to everyone!

Jones Sodas Christmas Pack flavors include Sugar Plum, Egg Nog, Christmas Tree and Christmas Ham. They are also claiming that their newest product will be kosher - including the ham!

Actually, the packages are divided up according to the holiday with the Christmas pack featuring such flavors as Sugar Plum, Christmas Tree, Egg Nog and Christmas Ham. The Hanukkah pack will have Jelly Doughnut, Apple Sauce, Chocolate Coins and Latke sodas.

"As always, both packs are kosher and contain zero caffeine," Jones said in a statement.

The packs will go on sale Sunday, with a portion of the proceeds to be given to charity, the company said.

Jones' products feature original label art and frequently odd flavors. Last year's seasonal pack was Thanksgiving-themed, with Green Pea, Sweet Potato, Dinner Roll, Turkey and Gravy, and Antacid sodas.

For its contract to supply soda to Qwest Field, home of the Seattle Seahawks, Jones came up with Perspiration, Dirt, Sports Cream and Natural Field Turf. The company -- fortunately or unfortunately -- prides itself on the accuracy of the taste.

Excuse me while I gag...

Jones also makes more traditional flavors, including root beer, cherry and strawberry. I dunno - call me silly but I'll pass on the ham soda.

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Happy Poetry Friday!

Today's round-up is over at AmoXcalli.

The contest is still going here until October 12, so please send in your examples of classic literature in pop culture.

Here's my latest:

Countess Kathleen, Scene 5
by William Butler Yeats

The years like great black oxen tread the world
and God the herdsman goads them on behind
and I am broken by their passing feet.

I'm on vacation for the next 9 days, but keep the entries coming!

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Happy Poetry Friday!

Roundup is at Hip Writer Mama.

This week, I'm starting a new contest, one that I think everyone will find easy, fun and interesting. Yes, yes, we're putting the last contest down to my poor combination of medication. Sigh....

This contest theme: High Culture meets Pop Culture

So I was driving home from work the other night, and for some reason suddenly found myself thinking of Rodney Dangerfield reciting "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" in the movie Back to School.



Which led me to remember Charles Bronson in the movie Telefon, and that scene in the phone booth where the classic lines from Robert Frost are quoted:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.

What a lovely way to be brainwashed.

And then I thought of one of my favorite scenes from Porky's II (a movie that made me giggle so much I almost wet myself), where Pee Wee plays Shakespeare's Robin in the school play and gives the closing speech from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." This scene coming right on the heels of the outrageous sex and vomit sting scene was a fabulous juxtaposition. What's remarkable to me is that it was because of Porky's II that I fell in love with this little bit of Shakespeare. How many of you can say that? How many would admit to it?

Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon,
Whilst the heavy plowman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite
In the church-way paths to glide.
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate's team
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic. Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house.
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

And so back to the contest....

Here is your mission, if you want to play:

Submit your comments here with examples of TV shows, popular songs, or movies that used references or quotes from famous poets or authors in a way that may have caught people by surprise. Caught by surprise? I mean, don't include the movie Sense and Sensibility, where half of it was quotes from poetry because two of the characters sat around and read each other poetry throughout. Don't include Shakespeare in Love or Hamlet, where of course there will be a lot of, um, Shakespeare.

Give me movies like Porky's II, or songs like Dire Straits "Romeo and Juliet." Better yet, give me quotes from The Simpsons. Any extra explanation you can include, similar to mine above about Porky's II, will gain you extra points.

You also get extra points for posting about this contest on your blog.

Deadline: October 12
Prizes: Good. I'll randomly draw 4 winners and I'll send them gift cards worth real money ($10 to 25).

Enjoyment factor: 10

Oh, and I'll create a post of all the submissions. Please include links to videos, or pictures, if you can, because that will make the post more fun.

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Happy Poetry Friday!

I chose this poet during my searches today because her first name is my middle name, and somehow that makes her a better poet in my view. Anyhow, the poem today is full of interesting images and a stop-and-think-about-it concept. Enjoy!

Two, Three
by Rae Armantrout

Sad, fat boy in pirate hat.
Long, old, dented,
copper-colored Ford.

How many traits
must a thing have
in order to be singular?

(Echo persuades us
everything we say
has been said at least once
......................................before.)

Go here for the rest of the poem.

Go here for a bio of the poet.

Go here ... or here... for audio of the poet reading other poems. Fair warning, I find her a little too perky a reader.

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Happy Poetry Friday, and happy end of August!

(It hardly seems possible that 2/3 of the year is done.)

The roundup this week is over at Mentor Texts.

My new poet this week is Rita Dove, one of the contemporary poets featured over at http://www.poets.org/.

Weathering Out
by Rita Dove

She liked mornings the best—Thomas gone
to look for work, her coffee flushed with milk,

outside autumn trees blowsy and dripping.
Past the seventh month she couldn’t see her feet

so she floated from room to room, houseshoes flapping,
navigating corners in wonder. When she leaned

against a doorjamb to yawn, she disappeared entirely.

Go here to read the rest of this poem.

Go here to listen to the poet reading this poem.

Go here for a brief bio of the poet.

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Happy Poetry Friday!

The round-up is done pretty creatively over at The Book Mine Set.

I've posted a Dugan poem in the past (Love Song: I and Thou) but this one is new to me.

On Looking for Models
by Alan Dugan

The trees in time
have something else to do
besides their treeing. What is it.
I'm a starving to death
man myself, and thirsty, thirsty
by their fountains but I cannot drink
their mud and sunlight to be whole.

Go here to read and listen to the rest of the poem.

Go here for a short bio of Alan Dugan.

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Happy Poetry Friday!

I ran across this tonight, and thought all the librarians out there might like it.

My First Memory (of Librarians)
by Nikki Giovanni

This is my first memory:
A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky
...............wood floor
A line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the center
Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply
..............too short
............................For me to sit in and read
So my first book was always big

Go here for the rest of this poem.

Go here for a bio of Nikki Giovanni.

And GO HERE for an interview with Nikki Giovanni talking about poetry and books and life. I liked this in particular: "There's no life in safety.... It prevents you from greeting the world with open arms." I also really enjoyed how she ended with a bit about making poetry accessible. Worth a listen!

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Happy Poetry Friday!

There's been so much talk about weird weather lately, I went hunting for a poem about wind and rain. Here is what I found.

In General
by Pattiann Rogers

This is about no rain in particular,
just any rain, rain sounding on the roof,
any roof, slate or wood, tin or clay
or thatch, any rain among any trees,
rain in soft, soundless accumulation,
gathering rather than falling on the fir
of juniper and cedar, on a lace-community
of cobwebs, rain clicking off the rigid
leaves of oaks or magnolias, any kind
of rain, cold and smelling of ice or rising
again as steam off hot pavements
or stilling dust on country roads in August.
This is about rain as rain possessing
only the attributes of any rain in general.

And this is about night, any night
coming in its same immeasurably gradual
way, fulfilling expectations in its old
manner, creating heavens for lovers
and thieves, taking into itself the scarlet
of the scarlet sumac, the blue of the blue
vervain....

Go here to read the rest of the poem.

Go here for a bio of the poet.


And for something completely different, why not check out Sara Lewis Holmes' 39 Reasons to Write, which was an answer to the meme I posted for my birthday.

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Happy Poetry Friday!

He was just named Poet Laureate of the United States. He was just awarded the Wallace Stevens award.

And I never heard of him until today.

Pigeons at Dawn
by Charles Simic

Extraordinary efforts are being made
To hide things from us, my friend.
Some stay up into the wee hours
To search their souls.
Others undress each other in darkened rooms.

The creaky old elevator
Took us down to the icy cellar first
To show us a mop and a bucket
Before it deigned to ascend again
With a sigh of exasperation.

Go here for the rest of the poem.

For more fun, go here for the audio of another of his poems.

And finally, fresh off the www.poets.org presses: The Academy of American Poets will feature Mr. Simic in a free public reading in New York City's Bryant Park on August 21. He will also participate in the Academy's inaugural Poets Forum in October. For more information, please visit www.poets.org/poets.forum.

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Happy Poetry Friday! You'll find the round-up over at Check it Out!

I've snuck back from vacation for just a day, and wanted to get you this link to a wonderful poem by Philip Levine (brief bio).

I could only find this in audio, but I've transcribed the first half to the best of my ability.

Messieur Degas Teaches Art and Science at Durfy Intermediate School, Detroit 1942
by Philip Levine

He made a line on the blackboard
One bold stroke from right to left diagonally downward
And stood back to ask --
Looking as always at no one in particular --
"What have I done?"

From the back of the room Freddy shouted,
"You've broken a piece of chalk!"
Messieur Degas did not smile.
"What have I done?" he repeated.

The most intellectual students
Looked down to study their desks,
Except for Gertrude Bimler,
Who raised her hand before she spoke:
"Messieur Degas, you have created
The hypotenuse of an isosceles triangle."

Degas mused.
Everyone knew that Gertrude could not be incorrect.

Go here to hear: Messieur Degas Teaches Art and Science at Durfy Intermediate School, Detroit 1942

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Happy Poetry Friday! When you're done here, don't forget the Poetry Friday round-up over at Chicken Spaghetti.

I have to say I really enjoy hunting around on Poets.org for new poetry. Today, I followed their link for "Cowboy Poetry" and from there a link to the poet Maxine Kumin.

Consider this poem about her guilt over letting go of a good horse:

Jack
by Maxine Kumin

How pleasant the yellow butter
melting on white kernels, the meniscus
of red wine that coats the insides of our goblets

where we sit with sturdy friends as old as we are
after shucking the garden's last Silver Queen
and setting husks and stalks aside for the horses

the last two of our lives, still noble to look upon:
our first foal, now a bossy mare of 28
which calibrates to 84 in people years

and my chestnut gelding, not exactly a youngster
at 22. Every year, the end of summer
lazy and golden, invites grief and regret...

Go here for the rest of the poem.

And then consider going here to read and listen to Kumin's "Woodchucks," which takes a somewhat humorous, somewhat grisly look at the determination of the poet to get rid of varmints in her garden. The poem begins: "Gassing the woodchucks didn't turn out right." If you read it as I did, you will laugh and then you will wince.

If the phrase "Cowboy Poetry" intrigues you, use this link for a description of Cowboy Poetry. By the way, based on this description I don't think either of the two Kumin poems I point out are part of the Cowboy Poetry genre.

And here is a Brief bibliography/bio of Maxine Kumin.

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It's Poetry Friday! Get your round-up over at ....

Lately I've been thinking about C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman (Gresham), and their story as told in the movie Shadowlands and the book A Grief Observed. I don't know why these things pop into my head, but once they do, it's best to just let them out.

So here's a poem from Joy Davidman, which was actually used in the movie Shadowlands.

Snow in Madrid
by Joy Davidman

Softly, so casual,
Lovely, so light, so light,
The cruel sky lets fall
Something one does not fight.
How tenderly to crown
The brutal year
The clouds send something down
That one need not fear.
Men before perishing
See with unwounded eye
For once a gentle thing
Fall from the sky.

Go here for a brief write-up about the life of Joy Davidman. She was known to many of the public as that Jewish, atheist, Christian, communist, divorcee, American poet and novelist who married C. S. Lewis. She was known to Lewis himself as:

my daughter and my mother, my pupil and my teacher, my subject and my sovereign; and always, holding all these in solution, my trusty comrade, friend, shipmate, fellow-soldier.

I do recommend reading "A Grief Observed" if you've got plenty of kleenex handy and want to know more about Lewis and Davidman.

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It's Poetry Friday!

Here's a whole collection of Robert Frost poetry readings, recorded in 1956, and provided by Harper Audio. The one I'm going to quote starts at 4:50 or so in the section called "The Death of the Hired Man." To get to a higher quality recording of this selection, use this link and go forward about 1/3 of the way.

The Death of the Hired Man
by Robert Frost

MARY sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. “Silas is back.”
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. “Be kind,” she said.
She took the market things from Warren’s arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.

“When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I’ll not have the fellow back,” he said.
“I told him so last haying, didn’t I?
‘If he left then,’ I said, ‘that ended it.’
What good is he? Who else will harbour him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there’s no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
‘He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won’t have to beg and be beholden.’
‘All right,’ I say, ‘I can’t afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.’
‘Someone else can.’ ‘Then someone else will have to.’
I shouldn’t mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there’s someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,—
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I’m done.”

“Sh! not so loud: he’ll hear you,” Mary said.

“I want him to: he’ll have to soon or late.”

“He’s worn out. He’s asleep beside the stove.
When I came up from Rowe’s I found him here,
Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep,
A miserable sight, and frightening, too—
You needn’t smile—I didn’t recognise him—
I wasn’t looking for him—and he’s changed.
Wait till you see.”

Go here to read the rest of the poem. It tells quite a story. Especially the part around these lines:

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.”

Enjoy!

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Happy Poetry Friday!

Today's poem is one I found on a site called Poetry 180. The site offers one poem for every school day. This first poem is the first in the series, and I think makes an excellent "introduction to poetry."

Introduction to Poetry
by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

Go here for the rest of the poem.

Here are some links for audio recordings of Billy Collins. I recommend the Library of Congress video, but you can skip the first 5 minutes of introduction.

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It's Poetry Friday!

My offering is just below. The round-up of all the PF offerings can be reached via this button:



First of all, a warm thank you to Stidmama, who thought to send me this poem earlier this week.

Usually I post the first few stanzas of a poem, and then link to the entire poem so that you can read the end. Today I'll do something a little different. In this poem, I found the last 3 stanzas so startling that I prefer to share these last three rather than the start of the poem. The link will still take you to the entire poem, allowing you this time to read the beginning (and re-read the end of course).

The House of Belonging
by David Whyte

...
This is the bright home
in which I live
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.

This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.

There is no house
like the house of belonging.

Go here for the rest of the poem. And don't forget to click the link at the bottom to hear it!

Once you've read it, and heard it, then check out the poet's bio and see if that makes you rethink your opinion of the poem itself. It's an interesting experiment I think.

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It's Poetry Friday, and the start of the long weekend. I hope you all enjoy the break.

Here's a poem to remember the Memorial Day holiday.

Memorial Day for the War Dead
by Yehuda Amichai

Memorial day for the war dead. Add now
the grief of all your losses to their grief,
even of a woman that has left you. Mix
sorrow with sorrow, like time-saving history,
which stacks holiday and sacrifice and mourning
on one day for easy, convenient memory.

Oh, sweet world soaked, like bread,
in sweet milk for the terrible toothless God.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."
No use to weep inside and to scream outside.
Behind all this perhaps some great happiness is hiding.

Go here for the rest of this poem.

Be well!

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Happy Poetry Friday!

I went wandering idly, not knowing what type of poem I was looking for this week. I tried a few key-word searches, and somehow found myself reading a selection of Kenneth Rexroth's poems for the first time.

This is the one I thought most appropriate to share.

Confusion
by Kenneth Rexroth

I pass your home in a slow vermilion dawn,
The blinds are drawn, and the windows are open.
The soft breeze from the lake
Is like your breath upon my cheek.
All day long I walk in the intermittent rainfall.
I pick a vermilion tulip in the deserted park,
Bright raindrops cling to its petals.

Go here for the rest of the poem. You will also find three others at this spot, all equally good. My favorite line from the poems here is from the first peom on the page, "Runaway":

I wish I could be sure that deep in you
Was a magnet to draw you always home.

That bit alone makes Rexroth worth a deeper investigation I think.

After you grow a good appreciation for Rexroth, and have developed a healthy respect, only then should you go listen to these audio selections, which are purely HORRIBLE but highly amusing.

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It's Poetry Friday, and coming up on Mother's Day! To all of you who are mothers, or who have mothers, enjoy the weekend and celebrate please.

Here's a poem I just discovered tonight. I love how the poet makes his mother so absolutely human in telling about her one small mannerism. Don't forget to check out the audio on this.

Oh, and Happy Mother's Day MOM!

Dinner with my Mother
by Hugo Williams

My mother is saying 'Now'.
'Now,' she says, taking down a saucepan,
putting it on the stove.
She doesn't say anything else for a while,

so that time passes slowly, on the simmer,
until it is 'Now' again
as she hammers out our steaks
for Steak Diane.

I have to be on hand at times like this
for table-laying
drink replenishment
and general conversational encouragement,

but I am getting hungry
and there is nowhere to sit down.
'Now,' I say, making a point
of opening a bottle of wine.

Go here for the rest of the poem, and of course, the audio.

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It's Poetry Friday!

Again I've gone with a poem from the Knopf poem-a-day offerings. This one arrived on Tuesday, and as soon as I read

my heart
is a pen
in your hand

it is all
up to you
to write me happy or sad

I knew this one of those poems I wanted to store someplace safe to read and re-read.

Please... read the rest of "Only You" by Rumi. There's a brief bio of the poet along with the poem as well.

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It's Poetry Friday!

I've really enjoyed having a poem emailed to me every day this month from Knopf. What incredible selections they're making, and all poetry I've not seen before so it's a great opportunity to expand my poetic horizons.

Yesterday they sent me this poem from Mark Strand, and I loved it at first read. Then I saw there was an audio recording we could listen to, and I just knew it had to be my Poetry Friday selection for this week.

Man and Camel
by Mark Strand

On the eve of my fortieth birthday
I sat on the porch having a smoke
when out of the blue a man and a camel
happened by. Neither uttered a sound
at first, but as they drifted up the street
and out of town the two of them began to sing.
Yet what they sang is still a mystery to me—
the words were indistinct and the tune
too ornamental to recall. Into the desert
they went and as they went their voices
rose as one above the sifting sound
of windblown sand. The wonder of their singing,
its elusive blend of man and camel, seemed
an ideal image for all uncommon couples.

Go here for the rest of the poem.

Go here for the audio recording of the poem, which I think adds just the right amount of texture to something already quite wonderful.

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It's Poetry Friday! (and Friday the 13th, but we're trying to ignore that)

Liz has the round-up this week over at A Chair, a Fireplace, and a Tea Cozy.

UPDATE: I'm adding a bonus poem today, one that just arrived in my email and struck me as incredibly beautiful. The poem is called "Moose in the Morning, Northern Maine," by Mona Van Duyn. Here's a small bit of it, the very bit that made me love the poem:

The world is warming and lightening
and mist on the pond
dissolves into bundles and ribbons.
At the end of my dock there comes clear,
bared by the gentle burning,
a monstrous hulk with thorny head,
up to his chest in the water,
mist wreathing round him.

Use this link to read the entire poem.


Here's my original PF post:

I don't have audio on this poem. But if you want to hear it, you could go out and rent the movie Crossing Delancey, which is how I know this poem. It is actually translated from the Chinese Book of Songs.

ripe plums are falling
now there are only five
may a fine lover come for me
while there is still time

ripe plums are falling
now there are only three
may a fine lover come for me
while there is still time

ripe plums are falling
i gather them in a shallow basket
may a fine lover come for me
tell me his name

Here's a brief write-up about this poem -- scroll to #17.

Here is a very different translation of the same poem -- scroll to #20.

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