Cooking Alone At two a.m. excitement steams the kitchen like breath. On the countertop an onion sheds its silvery blouse, shrimp slip from their pink shells. In the greasy light of the stove a ladle drools over a rump roast. Gravy hisses. What a joy it is, the whole steamy affair the poke and prod of thermometers and forks, the purple blush of beets, peas staring eagerly through wet black eyes, oysters bracing themselves for the knife's quick shuck.
I have two questions regarding the above poem one, does the poem seem
finished?
Is the purpose of the comparison apparent?
Mr. Tusa: This poem does not seem quite finished to me. But to stretch it out in the same manner that the current stanzas are written (having more inanimate objects personified to stand in for human actions/desires) would be to overkill it. I think it feels unfinished (and this perhaps addresses your second question) because emotional intent seems stagnant. Although the poem is sensuous on any level, it doesn't telescope into a broader human attachment/subject. The question "is the purpose of the comparison apparent" begs the question: is the comparison too obvious. The lovely rhythms and fine images make for delicious writing, but the sensuous nature of shared excitement is somewhat toned down by your title: "Cooking Alone" - does this imply auto eroticism, at 2:00 AM? Is that the purpose? I suppose the purpose could be to demonstrate that "what a joy it is" in literal cooking can be a substitute for the more sexual joy of relationships when one is forced to "cook alone."
I really liked the deft touches you've shown in this piece; the alliteration, assonance, line breaks, clever use of doubling language. Perhaps it's best not to have an apparent purpose. You certainly made me hungry, for what I'm not sure. Nice read. Regards, Larry
Larry L. Fontenot <poboy@hotmail.com>
Sugar Land, TX USA - Wed Mar 22 15:10:04 2000
Readers: You may wish to contact C. Matthew Tusa privately with your ideas about this poem.