Pattern Recognition

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Location: Here Of Course

I like to talk. And write poetry. I paint a little too.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

The Importance of Notepaper

Damn the Greens and saving trees, mutters the interpreter
on her way to prison for another job. As usual no blank pages
at the end of her paperback for subway-reading. The suspect
yesterday had pen and notepaper, plenty of it, to write
a full confession in his cell, yet had devoted it to easy recipes
for her, who did reveal in passing that she is a rotten cook.

Chicken in ginger, pork in cream, poetry in the oven.
But she never carries her spiral notepad any more in case
a poem comes. Stress is all she carts around these days. A pile
of invoices to write at home, her mother just sent back from hospital
in a nightgown to an empty house.

Until today. Passing flashy orange sycamores along a silky autumn sea
a poem came and went, for want of paper.


8 Comments:

Blogger petergarner said...

Hmmm... you seem obsessed with cooking of late. Could you be becoming a foodie in your dottage? (OK.. that was a low blow... I apologize). Boy can I relate to the invoicing. After my HD crash a few weeks back, I accrued a huge backlog of invoices... Had to do 10 in one day, PLUS rebuild 3 months worth of financial data from old invoices..Took me a day. And I'm flying to Calgary in 10 days to see my Grandfather, who's fading fast. They're going to put him in a nursing home because he's just too much for my mother to handle. So I can relate somewhat to the business w/ your mother. Hang in there. If it's any consolation:

Passing flashy orange
sycamores along a silky autumn
sea, a poem came and went,
for want of paper.

1:12 AM, October 24, 2004  
Blogger Aisha said...

My DOTAGE!? Oh well -- I forgive you. Just a kid, not even forty yet, I seem to remember.

Thank you -- oyu found a opem in there :)

Hope you have a nice time with your grandfather-- sorry he's getting weaker.

And food -- yes, you are right...except the story of the lost poem is from the same couple of days I cooked ;)

Havent since.

Aish

1:18 AM, October 24, 2004  
Blogger Eliot Prufrock said...

Poetry catches us, we don't catch it.
Never go anywhere without your notebook.

Poems aren't written about what we see,
but what we feel. Remember that.

We feel as much about a recipe as we feel
about New Orleans, the Bayou, or French Quarter streets.

We feel, we feel, that makes it real—
as real as aging parents, alligators, cormorants

and friends who accept us as we are—
as we are, as we always will be.

1:26 AM, October 24, 2004  
Blogger Aisha said...

What we feel -- music goes there

-- at my uncle's funeral, a trombone, a trumpet and "I see trees of green, red roses too/
I see them bloom for me and you...
brought more tears than any memorial speech.

Thanks :)

1:33 AM, October 24, 2004  
Blogger Eliot Prufrock said...

I see a future and hope is the greatest legacy we can leave to anyone.

Eliot.

2:27 AM, October 24, 2004  
Blogger petergarner said...

Ahem... Just to be clear, I did NOT say "dotage".... though I will admit that not being able to spell does come in handy on occasion ;-)

Your friend,

RT

4:30 AM, October 24, 2004  
Blogger Carol from Nevada said...

To Aisha's friend, RT,

Of course you didn't, dear, you said "cottage," as in cooking up the pottage in the cottage.

Carol

12:47 AM, October 28, 2004  
Blogger Aisha said...

Eliot,
True.

Teper and Carol,
I believe you--thousands wouldn't.

Aish

1:27 PM, November 06, 2004  

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