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Posts Tagged ‘Chives’


The September 29th issue of the New Yorker has two poems, the first by Catherine Bowman, called “Makeshift.” And oh boy, is this what we read the New Yorker for. “From two pieces of string and oil-fattened feathers he made a father. / She made a mother from loss buttons and ocean debris…en masse assemble a makeshift holy city.” I take the poem to be about two people with a jumbled, patchwork past making their own world together. Maybe their folks haven’t been able to function as full parents, so they have to take on the task for themselves. Such beautiful images, line after line. Then in the middle of the poem, right at the “makeshift holy city” line, the poem reverses, and we see the same lines come out in reverse, with subtle shifts in meaning, creating tremendous power. For instance “Lacking a grave, they embottled themselves” becomes “Embottled in grave lack.” (Just to think of the word embottled is cool.) A moving, deep work of art.

The other poem is “Chives,” by Julie Sheehan. “You chop an onion, bone a breast, cradle / an artichoke’s…crown.” This poem shows a great precision in word choice. We start with such details, then move to the more general. “You agitate for justice.” An interesting mix of cooking and the larger world. She sustains the metaphor throughout: “craving the bitter,” using the tiny particulars to illuminate a life. Very well done.

Peace in poetry,

P M F Johnson

My eBook of poems, Against The Night, a sweet, rueful look at love in a long marriage, is available on Amazon, and at other fine e-retailers.

Related blog posts:

The New Yorker – March 19 2018

Rattle 59 – Spring 2018

The New Yorker – Jan 22 2018

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