To say that it has been an unusual week is an exercise in the most blatant understatement. I have not really been awake, it seems, nor really slept. It is not just that I have a STICKER on my book now, and will be trekking to Washington D.C. in June to receive a national honor. It is not solely the notes from the courteous, the curious, and the genteel, all wishing me the best. It is my own small self, by turns stuttering and flushing, and wishing for grace, and my larger self, thinking ahead to opportunities and hopefulness.
No happiness – for me, anyway – is ever unmixed. Mine is already blended with terror and dread — and meeting many of you in person is six long months away! But already I am in a bit of a spin, wondering if I have to say anything in a microphone. It’s ridiculous. I know. What we imagine is always immeasurably worse than the reality, but my, what we can imagine. I am not yet dreaming of spilling food on myself, but I’ve dreamed already of tripping. (I blame my friend Jennifer who is already trying to suggest shoes to me. SHOES.
Platform sandals!? Please. Shoes must be flat, to facilitate fleeing the scene, thank you. I am not my Grandma Mary with the stilettos.) My joy is spiked with a little panic; the sweetness brushed with a hint of tart. That’s usually the way it is with my favorite things, and my poetry today reflects this. Today’s selections are excerpts of two poems – both by men, both dealing, oddly, with fruit — and the distillation of joy.
Cranberry-Orange Relish ~ by John Engels
A pound of ripe cranberries, for two days
macerate in a dark rum, then do not
treat them gently, but bruise,
mash, pulp, squash
with a wooden pestle
to an abundance of juices, in fact
until the juices seem on the vergeof overswelling the bowl, then drop in
two fistsful, maybe three, of fine-
chopped orange with rind, two golden
blobs of it, and crush
it in, and then add sugar, no thin
sprinkling, but a cupful dumped
and awakened with a wooden spoonto a thick suffusion, drench of sourness, bite of color,
then for two days let conjoin
the lonely taste of cranberry,
the joyous orange……
…let it be eaten
so that our hearts may be together overrun
with comparable sweetnesses,
tart gratitudes, until finally,
dawdling and groaning, we bear them
to the various hungerings
of our beds, lightened
of their desolations.
And you can read the whole of this loveliness — as well as get a boozy cranberry relish recipe — right here
Now, that is a Thanksgiving poem, but it seemed appropriate for today. I’m grateful – and nervous – and feeling those tart gratitudes for the sweetness that has been offered. And now, on to summer:
– excerpted from From Blossoms, by Li-Young Lee
…
…
…
… O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
I can’t wait for summer sun and peaches again. Maybe in June, in D.C…. Please, read the whole of Li-Young Lee’s poem here.
Poetry Friday today is brought to you by Liz in Ink, where you’ll always find sweetness and joy. Liz has had a surprising week as well – can’t wait to cheer for her as she and Marla collect that well-earned Caldecott Honor.
Happiness, calm, and joy unalloyed to you this day. Happy Poetry Friday.
Well, you know, I have a reputation to keep up with my shoes. (Incidentally, I cannot be trusted to walk properly in heels, either. I can trip or run into something when I'm wearing sneakers. This is what comes of an active imagination. Or an absent mind. Whichever.)
I am really looking forward to ALA this year. So many of my favorite people are going to be there, books I truly love are being honored, and I have my committee work to do. The social thing can tax my introverted self, but those are opportunities to see and talk to people–like you!–who I just don't get to see and talk to otherwise, so it's worth being taxed. I just drink extra coffee.
Ooh! Adrienne!!!!
I'll get to see your SHOES!!!!!!!!!!
(Oh, and you. Like that isn't more awesome.)
I will be in the audience at the CSK presentation, and I am very much looking forward to being able to stand in a room full of people and clap for you and Mare's War. Given that most librarians are introverts, I don't think anyone's inclined to judge you if you're feeling petrified.
Thanks, all! The sweetness of the Coretta/BBYA/Amelia/JLG fruit is sweetness itself. Shyness and terror are the only sour bits in the skin of this plum.
I'm working very hard to get over myself!!
The bees, the honey, the peach blossoms, the sweet-tart fruit, and the joy, joy, joy! What a delicious Friday it's been!
I am so thrilled that your book, your work, your family story, (my namesake 🙂 has received the recognition it deserves. Huzzah to you! Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!!!
First of all, congratulations on all the well-deserved honors! And I love your poem picks!
What perfect poems to express the tart and sweet, the joy and the dread! A good combination when it comes to life's big moments; they balance each other out. I'm totally with you on the flat shoes, but your friends will keep you from fleeing!
Congratulations, and thanks for sharing those poems… I have confidence you'll know just what to say when you're in front of that microphone!
Namaste,
Lee
Sweet sweet sweet peach blossoms and honey today! Love your poem choices. I am so happy for you girlfriend!!
I'm with you on the stilettos. I'd be all trip-and-tumble in those.
I, for one, can't celebrate the joys without finding at *least* one thing to worry about. I'm with Liz, though, that your friends can be there to cheer your joys. Cheer without fear, if you will. I'm also with Liz in that I'm GIDDY FOR YOU, TOO! WOOT!
Tanita, I stopped by partly to congratulate you, and read a poem or two, but your terror mixed with joy truly touched me, and your wanting to flee the scene in flats made me smile in recognition. Being happy for a writer you like and admire is simpler I guess, so here are my uncomplicated congratulations or recognition for some complicated-to-just-the-right degree work. Jeannine Atkins
Oh, my mercy, sister. You and I were separated at birth. What is it with the mixing of joy and terror? Happiness and doubt? Fruit. The bitter and the sweet. We all need to tend to our own small selves, I guess, and for each other we can cheer so that the large selves shine…
(I, for example, am giddy for you!)