Tabs

Thursday, February 24, 2011

When Yellow Leaves Hang

When  yellow leaves hang
I will look for you,
silver streaks and frail.
My branches will reach
twisted and tangled
up your vined walls.

My edges will be
crumbling and veined,
but you will see in me:
my brightest hour
my hottest meal
my sweetest poem
and my golden skin.

The sun will slide south,
These roots will be watered,
and this rolling stone will moss.

And you will be...
My last leaf.


       
                                 

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Mofongo


 The kitchen smells of crushed garlic
and the deep fryer pops and snaps
In excitement

The counter splays
A rainbow array of exotic spices
And edible elements of the earth
On the radio
A savory salsa swings

Green Plantains
Are not bananas
But they pretend to be
So that the unsuspecting
Might bring them home
And fall in love with their
Starchy nutty flavor

So familiar and comforting
That a ripened plantain
Weans  infants of the Caribbean
On warm summer nights
As the coconuts click in the wind

And Today is their homecoming
Peeled from their green jackets
Like soldiers coming home from war
They are mashed in a wooden
Bowl with a heavy wooden pounder

In comes the Garlic
Potent and earthy
Arrogant and aromatic
Against the bits of blue crab
sprinkled into the bowl

Pressed Olive oil drizzles
Slowly and thick
From a glass bottle
To marry the mixture

 Someone turns the radio up
And the kitchen is in full swing
Ingredients are added by
Invitation only

The finished mush
Is fashioned into a bowl form
And deep fried to crispness

Pots are clamoring
And the savory smells
Cling to the walls
And lure us from our bedrooms

Codfish and crab bubbles
On the stove in a bath of tomato broth
Salty and tender
Ready to be poured into the mofongo bowl

Mofongo
Mo-fone-go
I ran from the dish as a child
For the name felt too foreign
On my tongue
Not easy like Skittles
Or Campbells

But today
It calls to me
With a history,
With a culture,
And with the familiar
Faces  of  family.

Buen Provecho!






Monday, February 7, 2011

Float away with me...

 One of my favorite songs is not in English, it is in Danish. Listening to music in a language you do not understand forces you to immerse yourself deeper into the song itself, and appreciate it on the basis of sound. In this song, you can hear each instrument clearly and feel the yearning in her voice. It really is lovely. So grab a glass of wine, dim the lights and turn this WAY UP.


Herfra hvor vi star
by: Quadron





      Every time I hear this song I get a very languid and beautiful image in my head. I picture a deep red silk scarf, floating through air as if it had been dropped off the roof of a building. It floats softly down to the ground...slowly shifting with every wind current, like a feather. Do you see it?


The translation I have found is as follows:


From where we stand


Everything has calmed down.
And soon, the sun is up again.
Moon accordion war
die slowly.

From where we stand
We can look around
on all sides.
It moves.
When we walk.
It is changing at all times.


We talked almost all night.
And here is it, then stalled.
Around, there are people and are asleep.
I do not know whither we should go.


From where we stand
We can look around
on all sides.
It moves.
When we walk.
It is changing at all times.

There was a friend who went away a little before the others.
And now they say he went too far.
But when there is someone who knows the direction.
Then there is always some guy who must stand for shots.

From where we stand
We can look around
crowded on all sides.
It moves.
When we walk. And where you stand.
It is changing at all times.


From where we stand
We can look around
and we can see on all sides.
It moves.
When we go and where you stand.
It is changing at all times.

Now the morning light spilling out.
With all the covers off.
This must be something.
And there shall be deducted from.

From where we stand
We can look around
on all sides.
It moves.
When we walk.
It is changing at all times.