Welcome dVerse Pub patrons. This is Michelle Beauchamp aka Mish bringing you Tuesday’s Poetics.
Where has our summer gone? For me it has slipped by like pieces of mangoes between my fingers. I was thinking about how I have measured the season by the fruits that have blossomed and adorned the basket on my table. We picked strawberries in June, blueberries in July, and found the most delicious pears and peaches at the market in August. September is all about apples. Somewhere in there, my son discovered a tree on a public trail bursting with Saskatoon berries. I’d never seen or tasted them before. They are not commonly found in our area, so we discretely gathered some, leaving most for the birds. Time has moved quickly with the coming and passing of each harvest. There have been batches of jam and a few memories along the way.
Fruit does hold memories for us, whether it’s the traditional pie our grandmother made for us, our first experience working on a farm, or maybe just the scent or taste of a particular fruit we either despised or devoured. There are some we find hard to resist as William Carlos expresses here….
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
that were in
you were probably
they were delicious
and so cold
The following poem by Robert Frost details the labour and exhaustion of working in an apple orchard. Underneath the skin, we may find a deeper meaning of life and death.
After Apple Picking
By Robert Frost
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
Fruit has found it’s way into poetry. For today’s prompt, I’d like it to find it’s way into yours. You have options for this prompt.
Write a poem based on a memory that a fruit evokes. Kim did a lovely prompt, entitled “How to Cut a Pomegranate” back in June. You can revisit the idea of exploring a fruit, appealing to the senses. Share the connection or memory that a fruit evokes for you.
Write about an emotion or abstract concept. What does it taste like? Consider the quote above by Rodman Philbrick, from The Last Book in the Universe. What does freedom taste like? What does guilt, grief or peace taste like? Does it remind you of the taste of a fruit? You do not have to stay in the confines of fruit.
Think outside of the fruit bowl! Create your OWN fruit. Yes, imagine the look, feel, and taste. Where did it come from? How does it grow? Is it magical? Take us to a fantasy land of fruit.
Easy peasy, lemon squeezy?
Here’s how to join in:
- Write a poem of any style in response to the prompt. Post it to your blog.
- Click on Mr. Linky and add the direct URL and your name.
- Add a link to dVerse so that others can find us.
- Read and comment on the work of others.
- Pop into the pub to comment or say hello! We are friendly folk.