—Poetry by Norma Kohout, Sacramento, CA
OUT THE TRAIN WINDOW
fluent white poetry of egrets
in flight,
explosion of mallards alarmed
by the train,
moored tankers, freighters loading,
unloading
below Benicia Bridge, visible
from the train,
across Suisun Bay—a moving sheet
of chipped slate—
the soft-green hills of Vallejo roll
by the train;
convolutions of pipes, metal stairways,
orange tanks,
futuristic oil-refineries grow
beside the train;
snow-feathered egrets on black-stilt legs
watch for fish
in the marsh’s bright channel,
near the train.
And more, and more—strange, ugly,
natural, beautiful—
waits to be discovered
on the train.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/4/06)
fluent white poetry of egrets
in flight,
explosion of mallards alarmed
by the train,
moored tankers, freighters loading,
unloading
below Benicia Bridge, visible
from the train,
across Suisun Bay—a moving sheet
of chipped slate—
the soft-green hills of Vallejo roll
by the train;
convolutions of pipes, metal stairways,
orange tanks,
futuristic oil-refineries grow
beside the train;
snow-feathered egrets on black-stilt legs
watch for fish
in the marsh’s bright channel,
near the train.
And more, and more—strange, ugly,
natural, beautiful—
waits to be discovered
on the train.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/4/06)
THE ZEN OF GRAPEFRUIT
Larry brought me grapefruit from his
tree-filled
place in the country.
I've begun cutting the peels
with a knife,
rather than removing them with my
fingers;
which leaves
a sticky crowded feeling under my nails.
The yellow covering cuts away nicely
with a few curving motions; so does
the white layer
that I rather like, and
purposely keep a bit of,
remembering my neighbor in
Los Angeles
said it had lots of Vitamin K.
The bitter-mellow smell comes up; and
my mouth begins salivating when
the serrated blade
cuts through the naked fruit, making
cubes
of the natural sections
where little cells of juice glisten.
I put the grapefruit in a glass dish,
licking the citric sweetness from my
fingers.
But I miss the comedy routines about
grapefruit
from my distant girlhood:
grapefruit juice squirting from the spoon
into people's eyes,
and movie incidents like James Cagney
famously squashing
one in his blonde gangster moll's face.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/24/07)
Larry brought me grapefruit from his
tree-filled
place in the country.
I've begun cutting the peels
with a knife,
rather than removing them with my
fingers;
which leaves
a sticky crowded feeling under my nails.
The yellow covering cuts away nicely
with a few curving motions; so does
the white layer
that I rather like, and
purposely keep a bit of,
remembering my neighbor in
Los Angeles
said it had lots of Vitamin K.
The bitter-mellow smell comes up; and
my mouth begins salivating when
the serrated blade
cuts through the naked fruit, making
cubes
of the natural sections
where little cells of juice glisten.
I put the grapefruit in a glass dish,
licking the citric sweetness from my
fingers.
But I miss the comedy routines about
grapefruit
from my distant girlhood:
grapefruit juice squirting from the spoon
into people's eyes,
and movie incidents like James Cagney
famously squashing
one in his blonde gangster moll's face.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/24/07)
Norma with Bob Stanley
—Photo by Katy Brown
WINTER SUNSET
Last night . .
just before dark, the leafless trees
reared assertively—
black detailed silhouettes,
sharp against the yellow light of sunset.
Tonight. . .
the western skyline dominates:
salmon-colored glory streaks
the purple clouds,
seemingly the last light.
Yet to the south, a jagged piece of white
strangely vivid,
like an alien substance
unnaturally pinned on a black sky.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/6/09)
FROM THE TRAIN—THE GREENING
The valley fields are resting;
grasses are pushing up
under the black arms of plum trees;
broad strokes of green show pasture
for a herd of Black Angus,
mingling with red and white Herefords.
Old-green contrasts with
mottled brown on barn walls
and cinnabar on their rough timbers.
Patches of new green are starting up
alongside winter-soaked
marsh plants and flaxen reeds . . .
the train rolls west to peopled Martinez;
there green is growing only in mowed
lawns
and weeds along the track.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/6/09)
Norma with Laverne Frith
—Photo by Katy Brown
EVENING WALK IN THE WINTER
all along my route
sidewalks give off the dusty-damp smell
of concrete and on this block
beyond the magnolia trees
that gather up night
and beyond their velvet shadows
fish is frying
that smells delicious
and around the corner
winter reveals secrets in leafless trees
and the glistening evening star
is so constant in its dark setting
it seems a benediction
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/6/09)
all along my route
sidewalks give off the dusty-damp smell
of concrete and on this block
beyond the magnolia trees
that gather up night
and beyond their velvet shadows
fish is frying
that smells delicious
and around the corner
winter reveals secrets in leafless trees
and the glistening evening star
is so constant in its dark setting
it seems a benediction
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/6/09)
THE NIGHT FOR FROG LEGS
Tonight, after a day of hauling freight,
he sautéed frog legs—
standing solid, still neat in the army-
style
twill pants and shirt.
Hot butter perfumed the kitchen; the
white meat
sizzled, and Mother
drained string beans at the zinc counter,
stepping around
our German shepherd, Frieda.
Even to a daughter's eyes, he was hand-
some:
ash-blond hair and clipped mustache—
turning frog legs
the way he learned in France in the war.
No other kids in the neighborhood
had frog legs for dinner.
We watched from the dining room table,
past Mother's cooking cabinet,
past the scar on the stove's white
enamel,
where he'd hurled the spinach
in Grandma Lindholm's heirloom dish.
(first pub. in Rattlesnake Review #14
and in Medusa's Kitchen, 11/24/07)
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
AT NIGHT
—Norma Kohout
Turning off the bed lamp
filled my room with soft dark.
The night sky came into view.
An oval pearl shone fiercely
on its cushion of indigo velvet.
I was glad the moon
was not yet round;
this perfection was all I could bear.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/24/07)
________________
NorCal poets were saddened to hear of the passing of Norma May Kohout recently at the age of 103. Norma Kohout played tennis in her San Francisco years, was counselor for The San Francisco Boys Chorus, a secretary, and a student at San Francisco State College. In Modesto, she taught junior high school English and participated in three teacher organizations. Norma said that highlights included receiving the Chaparral Golden Pegasus Award in 2001, being published in Senior Magazine, Tiger's Eye, Rattlesnake Review, and Song of the San Joaquin, plus California Federation of Chaparral Poets and Ina Coolbrith wins and publications. Also, Norma co-facilitated the Hart Center Wednesday Workshop with Joyce Odam. In publications, Norma had a littlesnake broadside, Out the Train Window, from Rattlesnake Press, as well as a chapbook from RP, All Aboard! Thanks for your poetry, Norma, and we will miss you.
For a lovely presentation of Norma reading her poetry, go to https://chaparralpoets.org/Member-profiles/NormaKahout.html/. For information about her work at All Saints’ Episcopal Church, go to https://www.allsaintssacramento.org/post/celebrating-our-all-saints-stories-norma-kohout/. For her obituary, go to https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/sacramento-ca/norma-kohout-12448897/.
________________
—Medusa
Tonight, after a day of hauling freight,
he sautéed frog legs—
standing solid, still neat in the army-
style
twill pants and shirt.
Hot butter perfumed the kitchen; the
white meat
sizzled, and Mother
drained string beans at the zinc counter,
stepping around
our German shepherd, Frieda.
Even to a daughter's eyes, he was hand-
some:
ash-blond hair and clipped mustache—
turning frog legs
the way he learned in France in the war.
No other kids in the neighborhood
had frog legs for dinner.
We watched from the dining room table,
past Mother's cooking cabinet,
past the scar on the stove's white
enamel,
where he'd hurled the spinach
in Grandma Lindholm's heirloom dish.
(first pub. in Rattlesnake Review #14
and in Medusa's Kitchen, 11/24/07)
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
AT NIGHT
—Norma Kohout
Turning off the bed lamp
filled my room with soft dark.
The night sky came into view.
An oval pearl shone fiercely
on its cushion of indigo velvet.
I was glad the moon
was not yet round;
this perfection was all I could bear.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/24/07)
________________
NorCal poets were saddened to hear of the passing of Norma May Kohout recently at the age of 103. Norma Kohout played tennis in her San Francisco years, was counselor for The San Francisco Boys Chorus, a secretary, and a student at San Francisco State College. In Modesto, she taught junior high school English and participated in three teacher organizations. Norma said that highlights included receiving the Chaparral Golden Pegasus Award in 2001, being published in Senior Magazine, Tiger's Eye, Rattlesnake Review, and Song of the San Joaquin, plus California Federation of Chaparral Poets and Ina Coolbrith wins and publications. Also, Norma co-facilitated the Hart Center Wednesday Workshop with Joyce Odam. In publications, Norma had a littlesnake broadside, Out the Train Window, from Rattlesnake Press, as well as a chapbook from RP, All Aboard! Thanks for your poetry, Norma, and we will miss you.
For a lovely presentation of Norma reading her poetry, go to https://chaparralpoets.org/Member-profiles/NormaKahout.html/. For information about her work at All Saints’ Episcopal Church, go to https://www.allsaintssacramento.org/post/celebrating-our-all-saints-stories-norma-kohout/. For her obituary, go to https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/sacramento-ca/norma-kohout-12448897/.
________________
—Medusa
Norma's Sidekick, Oliver
A reminder that
El Dorado County’s new
Poet Laureate, Moira Magneson,
will read in Camino today, 3pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
El Dorado County’s new
Poet Laureate, Moira Magneson,
will read in Camino today, 3pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
