To An Egg

Posted on January 28, 2013 by literarylee

(My friend and fellow Robert Burns admirer, Argyle Schield, continues to search for undiscovered  collections of Burns’ work.  Not long ago he discovered, in a dust covered chest in some attic or cellar in Scotland, a set of what he believes to be original and heretofore undiscovered works of Burns.  After painstakingly transcribing many in that collection, he gave me permission to share this one publicly.  I debuted it this past Saturday at our fifth annual Burns Supper and I now share it with a wider audience.  You have to admit that after reading, well, I dunno, say, Burns’ famous poem, To A Mouse, how much this one resembles it.  It’s gotta be Burns, don’t you think?)

To An Egg

White ovoid bundle of versatile wonder,
Your riches I would love to plunder,
Whether thou art intact or torn asunder:
The perfect food.
Ignoring thee would be a blunder
And somewhat rude.

I love you scrambled, hot on the plate
For that great meal I wouldna be late,
But also with bacon, the right proper mate,
Fried nice, easy.
Now there’s a dish that carries weight,
Though a wee bit greasy.

Or in an omelet you canna be beat
Full a’ onion, cheese, pepper, and meat.
Or maybe w’ haggis?  Perfect!  Neat!
My mouth’s a-waterin’.
Resisting you’s an impossible feat,
My will power’s falterin’.

Soft-boiled or sunny-side, either’s fine,
Your hot drippin’ yolk is better ‘n wine.
To savor, to gobble, ah, truly divine!
Oh what a giftie!
You buck up my spirits and straighten my spine
Give quite a liftie.

God bless crispy Scotch Eggs, a national dish
Are Egg McMuffins Scottish?  You wish!
We Scots sure like drinking: try a flip or gin fizz
Puts us in a roister.
Don’t forget eggnog, beverage delish.
Need a Prairie Oyster?

How about wonderful creamy egg salad
A delectable treat worthy of a Scots ballad.
Hard-boiled and deviled: also quite valid.
Give me some now!
Not eating these treats makes me pallid
And jumpy, somehow.

Eggs international, Huevos Rancheros
Eggs Muldoon and Neptune, Farafa de Ovos.
Egg-Drop Soup and Foo-Young, do you care-os?
Anything to suit.
Eggs Florentine, Fitzpatrick, Huevos Motulenos,
Can you stomach balut?

Shirred, coddled and basted or served in a quiche,
Loco moco, fritata, I don’t care in the least.
Benedict, souffle, please serve me a piece,
Can’t get enough.
Egg kaka, breakfast casserole, sheesh!
Wonderful stuff!

Also in cooking, pancakes and crepes,
Helps puddings, custards, my mouth hangs agape.
Also fluffy meringues, such angular shape.
Sauce Hollandaise.
Cookies and cakes and gratins to scrape,
Also mayonnaise.

Oh bonnie wee eggy you help me walk tall,
The Maker’s great wondrous gift to us all.
We’ll stay close to you and surely not fall.
So shall ye see.
(Is ‘t odd the egg, would hold me in thrall?
The yolk ‘s on me.)

Posted in Literary Events, Original Poems | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments

Shedding

Posted on November 15, 2012 by literarylee

Stepped away from his desk
His job?  It was through.
Reached his hand to his collar
Knew just what to do.
Gave a tug at his tie
From his neck slipped it loose.
Tossed it into the trash
No more need for that noose.

Before he stepped onto
The subway, the train,
A crazy idea had just
Entered his brain.
He’d always thought suit coats
Were heavy and brash,
So with no looking back
He threw his in the trash.

While on the walk home
On a route that he knew
On a sparsely housed lane
With residents few.
He made a quick gesture
Decisive and curt
To peel off and toss aside
His Oxford-cloth shirt.

Though his job was already
Sorta buried and dead
He wasn’t quite home yet
He had more to shed.
Having left far behind him
The stress, the hard knocks,
He took off and threw far
His shoes and his socks.

He walked for a while
In this odd partial state
Demeanor uplifted
His attitude: great!
Then frankly he realized
That now was his chance
He slipped off and flung away
His tailored dark pants.

He’d forgotten how good
His life could be feeling
Getting rid of his burdens
Was pleasant, appealing.
There wasn’t much left
To himself he confessed
So with a flick of his wrist
He took off the rest.

He tossed his sleek undies
As far as he could
Completely at peace he felt
Happiness, Good.
And continued his walk
Maybe ten minutes more
’till soon, ‘fore he knew it
Stood right at his door.

He relished the breeze
This was mighty cool livin’
Wearing nothing but what
The Creator had given.
He took one more minute
Then opened his door
Stepped into his house
Exposed no more.

He knew that his burdens
Were bigger than clothes
Though shedding them helped,
As far as that goes.
He’d now take to writing
A book was his goal
‘Stead of stripping his body
He’d just bare his soul.

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A Midsummer’s Garden Tour

Posted on November 12, 2012 by literarylee

(I planted this not long after June 21, 2012 but then it remained dormant in the archives until sprouting just now.)

I have further enlarged my Garden Kingdom adding yet more acreage to the Lorelei.  I decided last fall to give up my first and smallest garden, poor Jones, no longer in my garden orbit, because the plot outside my front door, the Lorelei, has space to grow everything Jones grew plus even more.  Shedding those extra square feet, or rather creating at least 60 more square feet in the front yard, I’ve saved myself countless walks (or wasteful short drives) lugging garden tools there and  produce back again.  It is so much easier and pleasant to step right outside to work – weeding, watering, conquering yet more new ground, harvesting – and to enjoy the green and floral beauty I’ve planted there.  Let me take you on a tour right now.

I’ll start with what’s left of the spring greens, now down to a few bolting (but still, amazingly, edible) red leaf lettuce, endive, and assorted lettuce plants plus several specimens of an odd attractive Asian green called mizunah.  Some of the lettuce is going to seed (see those tallish stems with little yellow flowers?) but that’s o.k. it adds interest.  I followed the lettuce with beans, planting a couple dozen bush bean plants as we harvested the salad.  I planted beans two to three weeks apart to keep the harvests small.  I started with Dragon tongue wax beans, the first mess  of which we absolutely wolfed down last night.  So sweet!  Planting number two, a traditional green bush bean, is just starting to bloom now and the third two dozen or so broad podded Romano green beans are just now peeping out from the ground.  I love the graceful arc of a bean seed pushing through the soil, that square inch of the earth’s crust that will support and nourish it from that humble beginning to my plate.  I hope my spaced-out plantings will provide a steady supply of these sweet podded wonders. Continue reading →

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A Spectator Riding Into the City

Posted on November 8, 2012 by literarylee

Waiting to whisk observant folks past mind-expanding sights of all sorts

I’m on a bus to the Metro which will take me to into town so I can visit the Historical Society of Washington.  Been a month and a half since I’ve been on a bus and it sure feels good, like seeing an old friend or slipping into a pair of well-worn jeans.  I paid with cash, something I never did as a commuter in what seems like the distant past when I always swiped a card to pay for the ride.  Putting a bill and coins into the box makes me feel alive, vibrant, and not just a moribund commuter.

The vistas and views I get while on public transportation thrill me.  Sitting on a bus as it glides down the street pretty near always opens my eyes, my brain, my heart and soul to ideas and images and so many mind-expanding bits and pieces.  Sounds a little like a drug, doesn’t it, but it’s not.  Nope.  Just the good old Metro bus.

We’ve got a changing of the driver now but I don’t care.  I feel no irritation or impatience like I might have when I commuted and Had To Get To My Very Important Job.

So here I sit on the bus, a spectator.  I love spectating, watching things stream by.  Or maybe I should say: things standing still and being beautiful or ugly or interesting or boring while I stream by.  Continue reading →

Posted in Living Literarily, Whitecaps on the Potomac, Writing | Leave a comment

A Sentence A Day Gives a Blog Much to Say

Posted on September 28, 2012 by literarylee

I got an email from someone who discovered  Carrot and Honey, my other blog, and sent me the following email:

Hello!

I stumbled across your blog and noticed your “contact me” section.  There, you indicated that you are willing to answer questions about, well, anything.  Considering that you are a writer who has a blog, I would like some advice about starting my own blog.  I have been searching for a creative outlet.  My friends and family think that a creative outlet would be useful.  The problem:  I don’t know how to have a blog.  I would appreciate any advice you could share on this matter.  how does one choose a topic, or subject, for a blog?  After choosing a subject, what kinds of things does one write about that topic?

Thanks for any advice you can offer.

Here is what I wrote back:

Dear ____,

Thank you for your kind words about my blog.

It’s easy to start a blog.  I use WordPress.  Click: http://wordpress.com/ then click Start Your Website, and follow the instructions. The site is very self explanatory.  Before starting your blog, I suggest thinking of a name for it which means thinking a little about what you’re going to write about.

I appreciate having a need for a creative outlet.  I suggest that if you start a blog, don’t make it another task or assignment to get done.  I’m guessing you don’t need more work nor more things you are required to accomplish.  My hope for you or anyone who writes, whether in a journal or a blog, is that the experience would be fun and come naturally. Continue reading →

Posted in Daily Sentence, Writing | Leave a comment

Introducing This Blog’s New Baby Brother

Posted on September 27, 2012 by literarylee

This blog has a new baby brother named Carrot and Honey.  It’s where I am writing about my year of unpaid sabbatical leave.

Why two blogs?  I have always  considered The Life Literary to be more of a portfolio of what I am writing, a collection of the essays and poems I’ve penned over the last almost two years and reflections on living a literary life.  I am going to continue posting what I write to this blog.  During this coming year, I plan to complete two projects I’m working on (The Marigold Manifesto and Among The Liberators), plus write other essays, poems, and a few short stories.  Carrot and Honey is more informal, more personal; my reflections on work and life and family from the point of view of someone not going to work (nor earning a salary) every day.

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Writing A Sentence

Posted on September 25, 2012 by literarylee

Here’s an interesting and helpful essay by Verlyn Klinkenborg about writing sentences.  He says that most sentences do not say what the writer intended they say, and that a sentence writer needs to learn to understand that his sentence will be read literally.   Also, a writer needs to learn to read her own writing completely objectively to make sure it says what she intended.

The Trouble With Intentions – by Verlyn Klinkenborg

 

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Of All The People

Posted on September 23, 2012 by literarylee

Of all the people I’m glad I’ve met,
Kind and funny, good as they get,
There’s one I’m thinking of right now.
It’s our son Aaron, yes! And how!

Oh when I think of heartfelt carin’
My mind, it races quick to Aaron.
We celebrate: Today he’s thirty!
(And yes, we know, he’s sometimes nerdy.)

When he was so little he testified:
Dear Mommy and Daddy, I’m satisfied.
Filled with such energy, creative, clever.
Enthusiasm dampened?  No way! Never!

Thoughtful and earnest, it’s him we admire.
Concern for people, that man does not tire.
Ready to help, to lend a hand,
Ready to listen, impromptu or planned.

But also I must take note and mention,
(To cover the bases is my intention).
Aaron is also a whole lot of fun,
He jokes and laughs, is second to none.

So on this your birthday, the big Number Thirty,
Instead of a package all wrapped nice and purdy,
We’re sending this poem, rhyming and funny,
and also intend to transfer some money.

Posted in Original Poems | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Liturgical Worship: Opera! Poetry!

Posted on September 16, 2012 by literarylee

A couple of weeks ago as we left church for our Sunday coffee and breakfast, my wife commented that the liturgy, the worship of the Orthodox Church, is like an opera.  It tells a story with song, movement and image moving the participants from a start to a finish.  Unlike an opera, participants are not just observers, a passive audience watching the story play out on a stage, but participants in the drama itself.

I am reading a book, The Cloister Walk, by Kathleen Norris, an author and a poet.  Once again, I am finding how much I like prose written by poets.  It is a treat to read.  In a chapter called, “Exile, Homeland, and Negative Capability” that could stand alone as an essay, she writes:

The liturgical scholar Gail Ramshaw makes a valuable distinction between theology and liturgy: theology is prose, she says, but liturgy is poetry.  ‘If faith is about facts,’ she writes, ‘then we line up the children and make them memorize questions and answers…But if we are dealing with poetry instead of prose…then we do not teach answers to questions.  We memorize not answers but the chants of the ordinary; we explain liturgical action…we immerse people in worship so that they, too, become part of the metaphoric exchange.’ (p 61)

I was reminded of this recognition, this reality, during Vespers on the day after the Feast of the Elevation of the Precious and Lifegiving Cross.  This Feast is all about the centrality, the power, the effectiveness of the cross in Christian life and worship.  The songs, the readings, the movement of liturgy on Friday and in the week or so afterwards all have this focal point.

Here is one of the hymns sung during this feast.  Notice (and enjoy) its use of metaphor (deceived by a tree) and the wordplay (wood healed by wood, a fall brought down by another fall).  These last two are practically puns.

Come, O you people
Let us venerate the blessed wood
Through which eternal justice has come to pass.
For he who deceived our forefather Adam by a tree
Is himself deceived by the Cross.
And he who gained possession of the creature endowed by God with royal dignity
Is overthrown in an amazing fall.
By the blood of God the poison of the serpent is washed away,
For it was fitting that wood should be healed by wood,
And that, through the passion of One Who knew not passion,
All the sufferings of us who were condemned through wood should be remitted.
Glory to You, Christ our King, for Your dispensation towards us,
In which You have saved us all,
For You are good and the lover of man!

Posted in Devotion | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

A Sticky, Slimy Habit

Posted on August 29, 2012 by literarylee

Let’s do the Okra Cheer: Okra! Okra! OK! Rah! OK! Ra! Go….. OKRA!

We’ve been eating okra almost every night for the last two months.  The 18 or so okra stalks in the garden, now each about six feet tall (one is eight… like I should write a story: Jack and the Okrastalk), are lined, near bottom to near top, with little dried stubs, the remembrance of all our harvests.  If you were to count all these little bits of stem you’d know just how many of these odd green pods my wife and I have consumed this Summer of Okra Abundance.  I’m thinking nearly 400 by now.  Probably more.  The near-daily okra harvests ranged from less than one dozen to two dozen or more.  Once or twice I think I picked more than thirty in just one okra patch foray.  I wouldn’t want to try to count all the stubs to find out for sure how many I’ve grown so far because okra plants are a sticky, prickly business.  The pods and the stems are covered with tiny sharp spines that don’t hurt, really, but certainly don’t tickle.  And the plants themselves are slightly sticky all over.  Can’t say I love wading into the okra patch with sticks and the pricks on every side, but when I’m savoring the lightly fried fruit of my labor I think, gosh, it was worth it.

Impossibly prolific

Continue reading →

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