tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post666076033123460837..comments2024-02-10T03:45:25.354-05:00Comments on Blogalicious: Writing about ObsessionsDiane Lockwardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07614479152159652577noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-77669267883086757602009-08-18T21:11:27.940-04:002009-08-18T21:11:27.940-04:00Love the avocado poem! Funny enough, I've been...Love the avocado poem! Funny enough, I've been mulling over a blog post about the nature of poetic obsessions, myself. I'm only just (after 30 years of serious writing!) figuring out what some of mine are. Food makes for some great poems... so many emotional connections with it, memory & family stuff, and the pure physical as well.Anne Haineshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17038705452206752521noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-43317907804689423672009-08-18T09:34:58.398-04:002009-08-18T09:34:58.398-04:00Every day! I think that moves from obsession to ad...Every day! I think that moves from obsession to addiction. Do you live in California?Diane Lockwardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07614479152159652577noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-67257396896079668712009-08-18T09:22:46.522-04:002009-08-18T09:22:46.522-04:00I am also obsessed with food. I eat avocados almos...I am also obsessed with food. I eat avocados almost every day. Great poem, Diane!Valerie Lovelandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11309299429765944601noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-2154250552881346722009-08-15T14:43:03.087-04:002009-08-15T14:43:03.087-04:00John--That's a wonderful poem. Mine, of course...John--That's a wonderful poem. Mine, of course, seems trivial in comparison to the weight of yours. I've written a number of food poems. This one is my only concrete poem.Diane Lockwardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07614479152159652577noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-73294836213653470492009-08-15T14:40:47.853-04:002009-08-15T14:40:47.853-04:00Sandra--
I'd be delighted to have my poem make...Sandra--<br />I'd be delighted to have my poem make its way into your classroom. I'd also be happy to respond to any questions your students might have about the poem. Oh, the hours I spent making word changes to get the lines the right lengths!Diane Lockwardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07614479152159652577noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-46754098421836140972009-08-15T13:42:25.922-04:002009-08-15T13:42:25.922-04:00Hi, Diane, your note about the food obsessions str...Hi, Diane, your note about the food obsessions struck a cord. Food was always the source of a lot of trauma in my family when I was a kid. Both my parents spent years in concentration camps where there was never enough to eat, so after the war they were always anxious about food. The ironic thing was that my sister was a fussy eater. Here's a poem I wrote about a story my mom told about her conflict with my sister about food. <br /><br />Fussy Eaters<br /><br />Fifty years later, my mother says,<br />Johnny, remember how you wouldn’t eat <br />the good Polish sausage your father brought <br />from Starchek’s Deli? Such a fussy eater<br /><br />and your sister Danusha was worse. In the camps,<br />she would chew on a stick from morning <br />to night and beg on her knees to get <br />some of the breast milk I was saving for you<br /><br />because the doctor said you were a goner.<br />Not till I came to America did I understand<br />what he meant by this word. A goner—yes.<br />But in America, Danusha wouldn’t eat<br /><br />the sweet cabbage with vinegar and onions <br />or the dumplings cooked with hot butter.<br />Only ten, she’d look me hard in the eyes—<br />like I was a stone dropped from the sky—<br /><br />and say, I can’t eat this Polack food. <br />It’s gray and tough and laced with veins that steal <br />my breath away so much I feel like choking.<br />And I would say to her, But you’d eat <br /><br />Marzipani, and one time I slapped her<br />and gave her five dollars—this in a time <br />when you’d work hard all day for five dollars—<br />and she went to Rickey’s Restaurant<br /><br />and ate meatloaf and mashed potatoes<br />and came home and was sick in the toilet.<br />This made me happy, and I said to her,<br />Now, you’ll eat my cooking. Now, you’ll like it.John Guzlowskihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13052735138993479204noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-829168697372726752.post-38445675503471777492009-08-15T13:04:12.043-04:002009-08-15T13:04:12.043-04:00I loved this poem, Diane! Would you mind if I used...I loved this poem, Diane! Would you mind if I used it in one of my fall classes (crediting you accordingly)? My Corcoran students might really enjoy the visual dimension. <br /><br />Cheers, Sandra Beasley <br />in Washington, DCSandrahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02108785153248826337noreply@blogger.com