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Balaboosta (a poem)
Evander
Registered User
Registered User
This is the first revision of a poem I wrote last week. I decided to try to insert some form in to it, so I thought I'd ask you all if the form suits it, or if it feels artificial. Any other input is appreciated as well. (also, just to save you any precious google time, "balaboosta" is aYiddish word which conveys the concept of an idealized housewife/homemaker.)
Balaboosta
By Evan M. Rosenberg
For special occasions attempts were made:
A pot of matzah ball soup on the stove.
Cholent simmering in the slow cooker.
Little plates with a green leaf of lettuce
topped with gefilte fish and horse raddish.
A beef brisket warming in the oven,
secret ingredient: Coca-Cola.
The other 300 days of the year,
she may have warmed a bagel for breakfast,
or defrosted a container of soup,
but never did my mother prepare meals
The end the work day finds my mother
in her kitchen, filing appointments.
Checking for new messages on the phone.
Packing school lunchboxes with pre-made snacks.
The counter covered with green and blue checks
meant to be counted for the PTA.
The stove-top empty, as is the oven.
My mother chose to keep her own last name
and got herself a doctoral degree.
Still, she always remained in her kitchen,
but she changed its purpose to suit her own.
By Evan M. Rosenberg
For special occasions attempts were made:
A pot of matzah ball soup on the stove.
Cholent simmering in the slow cooker.
Little plates with a green leaf of lettuce
topped with gefilte fish and horse raddish.
A beef brisket warming in the oven,
secret ingredient: Coca-Cola.
The other 300 days of the year,
she may have warmed a bagel for breakfast,
or defrosted a container of soup,
but never did my mother prepare meals
The end the work day finds my mother
in her kitchen, filing appointments.
Checking for new messages on the phone.
Packing school lunchboxes with pre-made snacks.
The counter covered with green and blue checks
meant to be counted for the PTA.
The stove-top empty, as is the oven.
My mother chose to keep her own last name
and got herself a doctoral degree.
Still, she always remained in her kitchen,
but she changed its purpose to suit her own.
Evander on
Posts
i'm not sure if the last two lines are necessary. perhaps. when i first read them i thought it maybe simplified the nuances of this character into 'generic empowered contemporary woman', but then, sometimes you don't realise how much you need a hit over the head before you get it, if that makes sense
the part of the poem that didn't particularly work was the transition between stanzas 2 and 3; "but never did my mother prepare meals" just feels a bit flat and obvious, as does "The end the work day finds my mother" (i'm assuming it should be "the end of the work day"?) i can't really suggest much at this stage, or if it needs anything else, but keep the imagery of her use of the kitchen as the focus as much as possible
anyway, i particularly loved the first stanza, and most of the third. thanks!
By Evan M. Rosenberg
For Holidays and special occasions the attempt was made:
A pot of matzah ball soup on the stove.
Cholent in the crock pot.
Little plates with a single green leaf of lettuce,
topped with gefilte fish and carrots.
A brisket warming in the oven;
Coca-Cola is the secret ingredient.
The other 300 days a year, my Mother did not cook.
She may have warmed a bagel,
or defrosted a container of soup,
but she did not prepare meals
The modern reinvention
of the yiddishe balaboosta,
she was too busy juggling work
and kids
and volunteering.
And something had to give.
The end of the work day finds my mother in her kitchen,
filing new appointments in the planner by the phone.
Checking the answering machine.
Packing lunches with pre-made snacks.
The counter green and blue with checks to be counted for the PTA.
The stove-top empty.
My non-traditional mother kept her own last name
and sought a doctoral degree,
but still she remained in her kitchen.
Only, she changed its purpose
to suit her own.