>Baked Beans and Grünkohl Poems
Poems
June 2016
Caroline
Caroline
A poem for Caroline Rand Herron (1941 - 2016), by Dorian Brooks.
This sonnet was written soon after Caroline’s unexpected death from pneumonia, by Dorian Brooks, poet and activist for women’s and American Indian rights, and a Radcliffe College classmate of Caroline’s and mine. Caroline was a distinguished editor and writer and later, a dedicated advocate for affordable housing. Among many other positions in the area of the humanities, Caroline served as staff editor of the New York Times Book Review (1993-2005) and worked for The Partisan Review from 1963-78, including as…
Mock Orange Reboot
Mock Orange Reboot
(With a big nod to Louise Glück,
whose poem “Mock Orange” can be found here.)
Louise Glück hates
mock orange:
the scent reminds her of sex
(with a man),
how desire takes hold,
takes over.
How the feeling after –
sober distance, separation –
gives the lie to
her longing for union.
I too understand
the strange power
the force
of mock orange:
sweet scent
sweeping over
as you open the door,
step onto the porch.
It lasts a few days
and is past;
blossoms wither
and die.
But during those days
I am blissful,
dizzy with longing.
Mock orange for me is a promise
of pounding…
November 2014
Back to Nature
Back to Nature
We took to the woods
to escape from our desks,
from our books and our podcasts,
too many reviews of arts and of letters:
from culture consumed directly
or through mediation of others.
We wanted the freshness of nature.
We walk in the woods,
we keep our eyes open
to take in the freshness of nature.
“Oh, look,” you call out,
“that squirrel with a nut in its mouth!
Sitting so still, so frozen in time –
it’s just like a statue,” you say.
“I love this blanket of leaves we wade through,
soft and deep – like a thick Persian carpet,”
I declare and continue,
“And the view up…
October 2014
Mid-September Walk in the Wilderness
I walk to raise my heart rate
and my mood. To count my steps
I wear a wireless wellness monitor –
it’s called a Fitbit.
(I didn’t want to go.
Glued to my chair and screen
I’d rather keep on playing,
addicted as I am
to Solitaire and constant
buzz of broadcast news.
I disapprove
of these bad habits.
I should be more productive.)
Success: my shoes are on,
the door is shut behind me
and halfway up the hill
I start to see
the trees and hear
the curving cries of jays
proclaiming autumn’s onset.
I take the path into the woods,
the so-called…
September 2014
Sign
A poem for Susan P. Bachrach (November 1939 – May 2013).
This poem was written soon after Sue Bachrach’s death, by Dorian Brooks, poet and activist for women’s and American Indian rights, and a Radcliffe classmate of mine and Sue’s. Sue was a devoted student of art history and traveled to Germany to research and write about the painter Paula Modersohn-Becker. Her essay of some 20 years ago “Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907): Woman and Artist as Revealed Through Her Depiction of Children” may be found at Fembio: Woman and Artist Through her Depiction of Children. Sue was diagnosed with…
