L'aura del Campo

To toot or tutor

Winter: 13 Mulk (February 19)

2006-02-19
vespers, 22 degrees. 23 in Tahlequah, OK.

Bitter out there still. I was cold listening to the bell concert. Was able to give Prof. Berghout a copy of the poem I wrote after last week's concert and aslo told her some good news.

Tutored a student in poetry today! Maryam is from Kuwait. I know a thing or two about that culture and thought I handled things well. She's an environmental biologist (my B.A. is in Biology), loves poetry, is fluent but doesn't always understand the cultural aspect of language.

We addressed that first. She had done a report on one of Amy Lowell's poems. Didn't have a clue about 'te deum', church steeples, madonna. Once explained that the poem was about a husband coming home to find his wife in the garden, not the house, she caught on. It puzzled her that a female author would use a male voice as in 'I' = male.

We then went on to tomorrow's assignment: Nims' 'Love Poem', which is an antilove poem similar to Shakespeare's Sonnet #130 (the one where he compares his lover's hair to black wires). I suggested she ask her prof if she could use these two poems for a paper she needs to write, part of which is to compare and contrast. Wednesday's discussion will be Auden, where he uses exaggeration to poke fun at modern society.

So, yes, I'm thrilled. This is what I'm good at. Teaching, mentoring, inspiring. Maryam brought back a lot of good memories of people I've met from Iraq, Lebanon and Iran. What a gift.

A sketch from March of 2004:

Maraîcher

Potatoes, onions, apples, oranges
festoon the tables in the early Spring,
while the Conrads sit there bundled up,
protected from the cold, as flakes
flurry past and customers are few.

Sun brings the return of onion sets,
and questions, always questions:
         Do you have tomatoes yet?
         Is it time to plant?
The answer's always no.

Shrubs are delivered and the fruit stand
has bananas from the tropics, cabbage
from the fall. All is well. For once again
the market comes alive.

Perennials, biennials,
in many colored leaves, the splendor
of azalea, this rite of Spring.
The annuals are last.

Petunias for the sun,
Impatiens for the shade,
and tomotoes for the mouth
in striped German or yellow pear,
or beefsteak by the pound.

The market spreads its floral scent
for city blocks around.
Local peas, then beans, then squash,
as Summer enters Fall. The pumpkins
turning all a lurid orange.

The flakes return and bring the scent
of pine and spruce that deck
bright winter halls. The market slumbers
under a blanket of fresh snow.
It awaits the return of the Conrads
and potatoes, apples, oranges, onions. [160.956]