He loved one thing
The smell of onion and garlic
Cooking, leaking out
Of her skin, branding her clothes.
That promise of a meal, ready to turn
With repetitive force.
The comfort of nothingness
Of whole countries debased with
The same roughly chopped onions and garlic
In that wedding present pan.
Apologies for the lack of blog posts. I have been writing, but nothing that I immediately wanted and needed to share. I’ve also been busy organising a writers’ group which is now ten strong. And this is the fruit of one of our exercises on Saturday.
I write some of the exercises myself, and also use a folder of exercises gleaned from Emma Pass but via other writers, including Cathy Grindrod. I believe this exercise is one of Cathy’s: read a poem and discuss, then write a poem based on it, use, for example, ‘He loved three things’ by Anna Akhmatova.
We had an interesting discussion about translation within the group. The version I found online for free had the title ‘He loved three things: alive’. Other members went on to find different translations. It makes me want to read the poem in the original Russian, but I can’t speak or read Russian!
I only had time for one thing, so here it is.