it probably shouldn't be a prime mover for coming here to read this, but if db has enjoyed it sufficiently well to favour it, then because i know how seriously he takes such matters it seems only right that i should take a look.
i am glad that i have taken a look because like the food you write about, this poem is honest and simple and delightfully clumsy. whether this apparent clumsiness is by art or design it really doesn't matter, because like bad jazz played well, the syncopation here serves to underscore the emotional anarchy you're writing about.
i particularly like the way ideas of emotions are jammed up against each other because actually, that's how it happens in real life: real life is assonance and real life is getting the rhyme wrong.
double yolks are lucky by the way and i enjoyed the apparent randomness of the extra yolk's inclusion. it signified attention to detail and a delight in the unexpected - both of them admirable traits.
and if the dumplings turned out ok, you probably did make them right.
i trust you swilled it all down with a painfully cold beer, brewed in the bohemian style?
This makes me think of all those moments when we're able to actively choose between being happy or mad, satisfied or disappointed. So you tried, & maybe you kinda failed, but you're making the effort & maybe that's what should be the focus when dealing with our day's and life's ups and downs. This poem seems to acknowledge both in conjunction with each other, & finding some relief through that acknowledgement.
It's a fine poem in so many ways.
& cooking is a labor of love, isn't it? Makes you doubt yourself, & wonder what the hell you're doing, & hoping, hoping it'll turn out how its supposed to, but then what if it doesn't ... I just steer clear of the kitchen, though it is the perfect setting for this poem.
Hey, I'm Czech on my mom's side. Downloaded a kolache recipe the other day. The pictures looked just like Aunt Hermina used to make. Yum! They also had a sauerkraut soup which I'd love but no one else in the house would touch. I bet it wouldn't taste bland.
I once read somewhere that one always has one or two people secretly in love with them, but they just don't know it. In a way, I guess that thought is both affirmative and pleasing to the soul and psyche.
I like how this is simple in presentation yet rich in imagery, allowing the reader to meander and pick out the morsels, so to speak.
P.S. "Yoke" should be "yolk" and I do think replacing "bready" with something else would make this shine just a little bit more.
This is well balanced. it would be easy to pour too much self hurt and negativity into this, too many emotions in an uncontrolled fashion and it becomes unlovable, and as i have told you, i don't know why that should be but, it is. rather than a fat girl, crying because she is also ugly -this poem manages something of an abridgement. it lands you squarely where it is, yet connects you to something regal. rather than being 'soul food' in a most controlled way, it has spirit.
bad feelings stick, but that's baggage...eventually the meal can turn out alright...yes, like a wrong relationship...we might eat the wrong thing on the wrong occasion...like picking the wrong partner from the menu...
but we are not unloved...i like that part, especially about the shaggy dog wagging its tail...
dogs are great...they love us no matter what...and don't judge us because of the baggage we carry...
the dog part reminds me of "A Hanging" by George Orwell...and how the dog in that essay ran up and licked the prisoner..when there were all those supposedly "good guys" around at the time....as the procession moved towards the gallows.
we find ourselves really loved when we least expect it.
and suddenly, it's a mystery why, the dumplings turn out very tasty.