Title: Cooking with the Muse: A Sumptuous Gathering of Seasonal Recipes, Culinary Poetry, and Literary Fare

Authors: Myra Kornfeld and Stephen Massimilla

Publisher: Tupelo Press, April 1, 2016

Hardcover, 494 pages

ISBN, 1936797682 / ISBN, 9781936797684

Link to purchase: http://www.tupelopress.org/

Or

http://www.amazon.com/Cooking-Muse-Sumptuous-Gathering-Seasonal/dp/1936797682/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1464723265&sr=1-1&keywords=cooking+with+the+muse

My copy of Cooking with the Muse arrived, cornucopic and gorgeous, after much anticipation. This hybrid treat – part literary and gastronomic history, part poetry anthology and commentary, part beautifully written cookbook – provides many sources of pleasure. The book itself is lovely to look at, comfortable to hold, and fun to read. Dip into it and you find yourself learning all sorts of interesting things about food and culture and poetry and inspired to run to your local market, buy a ton of healthy ingredients, and take on the kitchen with verve and excitement.

Stephen Massimilla and Myra Kornfeld, poet and chef, married to one another, have married their love of poetry and healthy food in a well-organized and inspiring way.

Cooking with the Muse announces itself as a visceral response to a virtual world and asks that the reader give care and attention to what the writers call “the poetry of food.” Beginning with a history of the intersection of food and writing, the book continues by first explaining how to select the best ingredients, teaching us some basic techniques, and then organizing its contents by season. For each season there is a collection of recipes with the inspired qualities of poems, concluding with suggestions for seasonal meals. And to each season are attached many poems and stories, commentaries and insights.

I open, randomly, to page 260. There I find “Goan Green Coconut Fish Curry.” The title of the recipe is itself a poem. I notice the alliteration in the title and the colors brought to mind. I trust the cadence of the words. Already I’m combining ingredients – my love of the sound of words and my love of good food. The recipe is preceded by a photograph — it is in resplendent color — and helpful instructions about exactly what ingredients to get and where to get them. I learn that the curry mentioned in the name is not the yellow powder that comes to mind but rather leaves that when “sizzled in hot oil . . . give off an irresistible citrus flavor.” I’m ready to run off to 26^th Street in Manhattan (where the Indian grocers can be found) and buy myself a bunch of leaves. Following the helpful advice is a clear recipe, with useful hints provided, anticipating the questions a cook might have in attempting to follow the instructions.

Following the recipe are notes by both the cook and the poet. In this instance, the poet has more to say than the cook. The reader learns what curry is and what it isn’t. The reader learns about Goan cuisine – “it almost always includes fish,” Massimilla tells us. And we learn about the relationship of Goan cuisine to Portuguese influence (“the most important ingredient in Goan cooking, the chile, was introduced by the Portuguese”). The next page contains a poem by Mrigaa Sethi, “All of Creation,” in which Indian cooking and love come together: “The secret of recipes is also the love made after dinners,” writes Sethi. Culinary and erotic joy permeate this book.

My random selection is apt because in their book Massimilla and Kornfeld have extended their search for good food and good poetry to the entire world. This book is multicultural and historical in its reach. The writers aim to capture culinary and literary traditions that expand our knowledge of time and place. So Mrigaa Sethi and Dorianne Laux, Basho and Rumi, Thomas Nashe and Roy Blount find homes for themselves in these pages. The range and erudition evident in this book instructs and delights.

The authors are advocates of healthy eating, but they are not caught in any doctrinaire culinary path. The reader can satisfy vegetarian needs, yes, but can also find meats and fish, grains and fats. Kornfeld and Massimilla oppose refined sugars but show us the glories of maple syrup and other natural sweeteners. Nothing in this book goes against pleasure.

Another pleasure in this cornucopia can be found in Stephen Massimilla’s own poems. Massimilla, in many cases following Neruda, writes about food in poems that employ a language as lush as the ingredients in the curry described above. This, from a poem called “Yellow From the Fire”:

                                    And in the Hagia Sophia, priceless in rays
                                       of the eggshell domes,
                                   a small plain bowl,
                                   most buttery of all the Sultan’s treasure,
                                   Byzantine perfection of its glaze;
                                   yellow from the fire, phoenix in the gyre,
                                   mixing bowl for ocher,
                                   pastry dough, chickee fluff, yolk.
                                   O life, luster, halo, joy:
                                   Be the Color-Meister of my soul.

                                                                        (69)

Here’s what to do. Go out and buy this book. Go to the best market you can find and buy up the ingredients suggested in some of these recipes. Get together with the people (or person) you love the most. Take turns in the kitchen while another person reads aloud to you from the book. Eat your fill and go to bed happy.

Countless albums sit on history’s shelf, but exceedingly few create their own place in time. A place where we can revisit, enriched each time. While I will doubtless miss out on many albums that will carve their places after I am gone, I am fortunate to be alive today to visit the timeless place created by Trophy Wife‘s sophomore effort, Sing What Scares You.

Have you ever felt as if language lacked the power and nuance to express a feeling as it sprouted inside you? Like the feeling of spotting a young girl at a charity auction reading a comic strip titled Bizarre Gender-Swapping Girl-venture To Tantalize and Amaze. Like the feeling of being led blindfolded by your lover to pet the pony you’ve always wanted before your sight is returned. Like the feeling of getting your hands on Sing What Scares You directly from Trophy Wife drummer Katy Otto herself at the kickoff show of the band’s tour this past summer.

“If you want to,” Katy replied.

“I do. I want to. But I must warn you, I am a really slow writer.” I was reminded of Trophy Wife guitarist/vocalist Diane Foglizzo’s words even before I finished the sentence.

“I’m feeling the weight of expectations, for which I’m totally responsible,” she wrote regarding her thoughts on making the new record.

As I write this, I feel an overwhelming weight. Besides lacking words to adequately sing the album’s praises, I feel as if the review I had promised that hot summer afternoon would constitute my magnum opus. I am consumed with the thought that I will never write anything more important, more dear to the muscle that keeps me alive. In short, I will try my hardest to write a record review and not a love letter.

I will fail.

It’s three in the morning and I am lying on a park bench. Mere hours prior, I was at the Cake Shop for my third show in as many nights. I had started in DC two days prior, where I made the fated promise; then secured a ride to Philadelphia; then took an overnight train to the city that doesn’t sleep. Not even the hustle of traffic and bites from insects could keep my body from slumber. But I couldn’t sleep. I was in constant fear.

Sleep deprivation is torture of the highest magnitude. I was in enough agony that I begged for death. Yet it’s absolutely the best night of my life and will remain thus forever. To follow the band and witness its journey in cementing their place in history is priceless.

But what could’ve been
could’ve been
could’ve been

The introspective silence that follows embodies the spirit of the record. It conveys a seething anger calmed by the infinite potential of a better tomorrow.

I actually loath punk music, even though I appreciate its attitude. Abrasive notes and incomprehensible screams do not appeal to me and Trophy Wife is as punk as punk does. Yet I’ve easily spun the record five hundred times over the past half year. In agreement with Kathy Cashel of the band Cat Furniture, I can discern the shouted words of Diane and Katy. There is clarity in indignation here. And this is why the record shines above all others in a year full of magnificent releases. How you say something is just as important, if not more so, than what you say.

in your eyes
i see possibilities

One believes Diane when she utters those words with conviction. Her voice — saccharine, strong and solemn all at once — compels the listener to press repeat again and again. Her timeless, tender and touching delivery invokes hope.

Diane’s command of her guitar redefines awe. From the fierce chords in “Boundaries,” where one can hear her bow as she rocks out, to the serene symphonic lullaby in “Warrior,” it’s the intersection between wonder and love.

But to discuss Diane without Katy is like having fire without oxygen, the ying without the yang or a future without a dream. Katy’s drumming is magic personified. Restrained by the confines of mathematics, she masterfully gives birth to art. The drums become an extension of Katy. Each contact between woman and instrument releases an eruption of rapt emotion so palpable one can embrace it.

And then there’s the duet in “Identifiers”.

etymology (the n is silent) / take flight from this world
classification is off / in your skin you’ll be born again

The two musicians trade phrases in perfect tandem. Their voices intertwine like knowing caresses between lovers. The amalgamation is so enchanting that the listener misses the diminuendo of the guitar and drums until Diane and Katy are almost whispering, luring the listener even closer, closer to the ultimate beauty, to truth.

There is no favorite moment one awaits for from start to finish of this album. Every note is breathtakingly precious. The record suffers from only one almost unforgivable oversight. At thirty five minutes and change, it is far too short. Sing What Scares You isn’t just the anthem of punk or even of life. To paraphrase Nietzsche, without it, life would be a mistake.

As in his earlier book, Twentieth Century Bread, in In Vitro: New Short Rhyming Poems Post-9/11, poet Leland Jamieson paints a vivid landscape using rhyme and diction. A formal poet by nature, his best efforts are tightly-crafted examples of form meeting function. With his verse, he explores childhood memories, extols the beauty of nature, and contemplates the history of human life on earth.

Jamieson’s poems about his youth are often sprawling but packed with detail, such as in the sestina “Sunshine,” where he begins with a compelling image:

My cousin Jack and I, arms out for balance,
toed still-warm rails. Our blue jeans’ pockets carried
great rusty spikes (one each) that we bent double
plucking from ties. I couldn’t catch my figure,
stilts-like, racing east in setting sunshine,
lashing the rails no end with skinny shadows…

In addition to retelling childhood stories, he turns a poet’s eye to even the most mundane activities, such as throwing away the ashes from a wood fire. In “Ashes,” he writes:

I can’t just throw away, and waste, the gray
wood ashes flecked with charcoal chunks that fall
down through our Jøtul’s grate, their flame’s ballet
too cool at core to dance the night’s short haul.
When cold, I dump them in our woods. They sprawl,
volcanic cones upon a sea of snow.

In a perfect example of how sometimes quirkier language undermines what comes before or after, the next line is “(Oak-acid soil cries out, ‘Please sweeten — Yo!’)”

Then again, too few poets demonstrate a sense of humor, a willingness to toss aside a serious tone and instead, just laugh at themselves. In “Frontiers,” Jamieson pokes fun at growing older:

We used to wonder why most older folks
in restaurants talked so little during meals.
Now we’ve turned older, and we find the joke’s
on us. It’s hard to hear.

No topic is too small — or too lofty — for Jamieson, who is equally comfortable examining shells or pondering the celestial origins of humans. As he did in 20th Century Bread, he includes several poems about the Anunnaki space travelers who, according to an ancient Sumerian manuscript, influenced life on Earth. In this collection, however, he does a better job of explaining the sources for these stories, in the notes at the back of the book. Perhaps, in order to make that series of poems more accessible for those who fail to read the notes, such a plain retelling needs to appear in a poem, as well.

Overall, Jamieson’s collection is a thoughtful, careful examination both of one person’s life experiences and about the nature of life experiences in general.

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Combining fiction with zoological information, in A Whale’s Tale, Daniel S. Janik explores the undersea world of the Pacific Humpback whale. The book is described on the back as a “Read-Aloud, Color-Me-Please Book.”  It follows a particular whale from his birth until he begins his own family.

The idea for this book is a noble one: to interest children in the natural world through a character with whom they can identify. The narrative, however, could pose problems for young readers, whether they’re reading it themselves or listening to an adult. Some of the vocabulary, for example, such as “inseparable” or “increasingly tolerant” might be above them. More problematic, though, is the structure. At the beginning of the tale, it is unclear who is speaking, but it turns out to be the whale who would eventually become the young humpback’s mate. It would have been better to tell the whole tale from the main character’s perspective.

Since the story is told from a whale’s point of view, it downplays scientific terminology and describes things from a sensory perspective. For example, it describes the phenomenon known as “bubble net feeding,” where whales combine forces to blow bubbles around small fish, which then confine the animals in a small area where they can easily be scooped up. However, for young people unfamiliar with this technique, an appendix or a sidebar describing the process in clear terms would have helped.

Ruth Janik contributed the illustrations, and her cover art is beautiful. It’s too bad the interior art could not also be produced in color. In addition to featuring the central characters, the book also includes other sea life, including an incongruous mermaid. Since these other fish and sea creatures are not mentioned in the story, a caption containing some information about them would have added to the learning experience.

While this story may interest children initially, there is little action aside from migration and feeding, so that might discourage repeated readings.  Still, any tale that  could help young readers appreciate the environment should be lauded, if for that spirit alone.

Rating: ** (2 out of 4 stars)

Savant Books and Publications, 2009; ISBN 1442105062

Disclosure: A review copy of the book was provided by the author.

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As he writes in the poem “The Calm Clam,” poet Changming Yuan yearns “to be a voice empowered / For all around me.” In his collection, Chansons of a Chinaman, he strives “To translate my loud pain / Into a muted pearl,” to reconcile his Chinese ancestry and his American life.

To do so, Yuan, whose work has appeared in Wild Violet, draws from history, mythology and natural imagery. In natural images he finds personal comfort and resonance, as demonstrated in the poem “Name Changing.” Here, he defends his choice not to Anglicize his name, which his parents created by “rearranging the sun and moon / vertically and horizontally” to give the name a balanced power. In the final stanza, he writes:

But to retain the subtle balances
In the wild wild world I wander
To hold my father’s sunbeam
With my mother’s moonlight
I fiercely refuse to change it.

In “Passengers” he turns racism on its ear, drawing power from his difference. He begins the poem with a litany of societal assumptions: “I speak aloud in tongue / I eat noisily with bamboo sticks / I appear everywhere like locusts” and then addresses directly those who might fear or even despise him for his “otherness”:

You can feel my Chinky shadow
Until we touch down
My breaths will invade
Your private space
My chanting will beat your eardrums
While you pursue your dream

Finally, he casts away such fears, saying, “I am not a phoenix / No more or less than a fellow traveler / With my own destination”. In the final lines, he calls for togetherness and understanding to replace fear and distrust: “So, feel free to do whatever comforts you / We will travel together”.

In the final section of the book, Yuan travels to China to seek out connections between his family history, his life today, and the legacy he will pass to his son. Once more, he finds inspiration and comfort in the natural world. In “Chinese Chimes: Nine Detours of the Yellow River,” he personifies the river as a toothless ancient one with “brownish wrinkles” whose “love for the Loess Plateau often overturns and overflows”. Although the river’s course is “crowded with holes and crevices”, Yuan finds hope within the river’s perpetual flow:

You may be tortured or burned to steam
But you will eventually find your impossible way
                                To the sea of blue sky

While occasionally prone to melodrama, for the most part, Yuan’s collection serves as a sort of guidebook: a translation between cultures, a nexus between past and present. In his best poems, Yuan’s work marries mythology and modernity with simple diction for a highly-accessible read.

Rating: *** (3 out of 4, Good)

Leaf Garden Press, 2009; ISBN: 978-0-557-08922-2

Disclosure: A preview copy of the book was provided by the publisher.

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Write what is hardest to say, my poetry instructor in grad school used to urge us, and Suzanne Richardson Harvey does precisely that. In A Tiara for the Twentieth Century: The Collected Poems of Suzanne Richardson Harvey, the poet tackles subjects ranging  from motherhood, family relationships and aging to bulimia, AIDS and homelessness.

Whether approaching a big issue (such as the aftermath of Chernobyl in “The Wheat Fields of Chernobyl”) or celebrating small marital moments (in “The Merits of Dining at Home”), her phenomenal word choice enables her to find the music in language. Take, for example, these lines from “Delivery Room”:

My body is a canvas stretched
To catch a falling wing walker
Pulsing like a tom-tom in some obscure and distant jungle

While a free verse poem, there is nonetheless an almost implicit meter: the insistent beat of these lines mimics the rhythmic stages of birth.

Harvey makes skillful use of poetic techniques, such as repetition, in “The Year of Gambler’s Anonymous”:

Love was 20
You could rest your heart in that
Love was a pair of 8’s
You could carve in two
Love was 11
You could mold that into magic.

Through this repetition, she captures the compulsion which drives the central character of the poem.

Such deft choices contribute to this collection’s success. Rather than taking easy outs of lapsing into abstracts, Harvey meets each subject head on, distilling it into essential moments and imagery. In each case, she finds the language to communicate truths in a powerful, specific and often tactile way.

In “Confronting AIDS,” she takes a personal approach to this devastating disease, acknowledging the impact it’s had on society and the investment many people have in finding a cure:

Those crippled cells you can’t claim alone
They’re lodged in the chambers of my heart
Where labels like syndrome and sarcoma
Are blank as a forgotten Christmas tag.

With this collection, Harvey, whose work has appeared in Wild Violet, has indeed crafted a tiara, a delicate coronet crafted from years of skillful, intuitive use of language.

Rating: **** (4 out of 4, Must Read)

Fithian Press, 2009; ISBN: 978-1-56474-489-0

Disclosure: A review copy of the book was provided by the publisher.

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If you like humor, real-life stories or just plain good writing, you will enjoy Idol Musings: Selected Writings from an Online Writing Competition edited by Sophie N. Childs. Idol Musings includes some of the best entries from LJ Idol, an annual online contest for Live Journal modeled after American Idol. Entrants come from a variety of backgrounds and experience. Some are established writers and some have never been previously published. What they do share is a love of blogging.

Childs has included entries on a variety of topics; there is something for everybody. While there some humorous pieces included, the book’s strength lies in the intensely personal pieces.

Some pieces, such as “Once Upon a Baby Doll” by Darcy Bridges, deal with the writer’s financial struggles. That is something more and more people can relate to.

Pieces also deal with other common themes such as love and loss and family. There several pieces on the theme of  “cracking up.” Although we may not have had experiences exactly the same as the writers, many of us can relate to the feeling of being overwhelmed with our lives. Other entries deal with experiences that may be unfamiliar and may even be uncomfortable for some people to discuss.

“How I Learned to Love the Bomb or Why I Stopped Being Angry and Started Living Life” by a writer known only as SG, describes her experiences as a lesbian dealing with other people’s homophobia. She starts her piece saying: “Ninjas are much cooler than pirates.” She explains that she has gotten tired of being angry at people who hate her because of her sexual orientation and has decided on a more subtle approach to dealing with them. “All I can do is live my life, the best way I know how and hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll come to see me (and my wife) as more or less just like them, except we happen-to-be-gay.”

In “To the Ghost I’ve Never Met,” the anonymous writer addresses her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend that gave him herpes. The narrator talks about what it is to be a “one in six” statistic. The entry is a surprisingly compassionate treatment of a subject that can be uncomfortable for people to discuss.

Entries like these are so blunt in their openness, they may be shocking. But they also touch your heart. It’s worth reading Idol Musings to gain new insight into a new form of writing that is still emerging the blog. You will also gain insight into the online community at Live Journal. Like any community, there may not be disagreements, but it’s obvious there is a bond this online community where they can share their personal experiences.  Most importantly, by reading Idol Musings, you will gain insight into the human experience.

Rating: **** (Must Read)

Fey Publishing, 2009; ISBN: 978-0-473-15100-3.

Disclosure: A review copy of the book was provided by the publisher.

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By the time anyone has reached 70 to 80 years of age, he or she will have accumulated a wealth of stories. At some point, a friend or family member is likely to suggest, “You ought to write a book.” Of all those people with interesting stories, only about 10 percent probably have anything worth writing about, and only a fraction of them are capable of turning their stories into a worthwhile book. I say this by way of explaining why so many memoirs — especially those which are independently or self-published — tend to fall flat.

In Arthur Birkby’s case, he does relate some interesting stories in his book, Dig Up My Gold (But I Won’t Say Where It’s Buried.)  For example, he shares tales of his family’s life in the ’20s, ’30s and ’40s in Philadelphia.  In the second half of the book, he talks about life in the noncombatant role of chaplain’s assistant during World War II. These stories are simply organized chronologically but fail to relate to each other through any other path than that they all happened to the same person.

While Birkby’s tales could serve as useful raw material for local historians, genealogists, and military buffs, he falls prey to the tendency that strikes many beginning authors: a failure to find focus. In truth, this comprises two different books: one about the experiences within a close-knit yet quirky Philadelphia family in the early part of the century and, secondly, a book about World War II Army experiences. While all these stories come from the same man’s life, they otherwise feel disjointed. The book would be stronger if he had concentrated on one particular type of story.

Aside from his immediate family and, of course, historians and genealogists, this book is unlikely to interest any other readers.

Rating: ** (Fair)

Tate Publishing, 2006; ISBN: 1-5988624-8-0.

Disclosure: A review copy of the book was provided by the publisher.

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On the surface, Genuine Men: Journeys in Stories and Stills sounds like a promising project. Photographer Nancy Bruno set out to depict the lives of men from a variety of backgrounds and ages, and to share their views on what it means to be a real man.  Unfortunately, for a book centered around photography, the portraits fail to impress.

Considering that the photos are black-and-white, most are also low contrast, in an uninteresting palette of medum grays. The framing of these photos often fails to make sense, which could have been addressed during the print-making. All serious photographers should understand such techniques.

Even more baffling is the fact that these photos rarely connect with the stories being told. Bruno must have decided, correctly, that action photos were best. But instead of, say, showing a pastor preaching to his church, or a youth counselor working with children, she depicts them in unrelated activities such as biking and jogging. Often, these activities do not even appear in the write-ups as significant parts of these men’s lives.

The write-ups, most of them a page to a page and a half, are equally flat and uninteresting. Despite their short length, they are often too wordy, without purpose. Why are these men the best examples of being a real man? That question is often left unanswered.

While this project, on its surface, boasted many merits, the execution is sadly lacking.

Rating: * (Save Your Money)

Bridgeway Books, 2008; ISBN: 978-1-934454=27-5.

Disclosure: A review copy of the book was provided by the publisher.

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While much of modern fantasy makes use of similar tropes and settings, The Halfling’s Court by Danielle Ackley-McPhail takes fantasy to a new level: blending the familiar with the unexpected, timelessness with modernity and— believe it or not — faeries with a biker gang.

Ackley-McPhail first introduced this world through two stories she wrote for collections she edited, Bad Ass Faeries 1 and 2. Even though those collections focused on revisiting the mythological world of faeries, her stories stood out for their fresh perspective.

She has clearly done her research into the biker world and writes believably from that perspective. In this tale, a halfling, Lance Cosain, who is part human, part faerie, has formed his own “kingdom” in the form of a biker gang composed of humans, fellow halflings and renegade faeries.  While he’s aware of his dual nature, he has never learned to harness the power of his faerie half.

While he has taken little notice of the faerie world, they have been taking note of him. When he is perceived as a threat, they send forces against him. Thus begins the clash between the two worlds, beginning with the two original stories and contributing additional background into his family and his place within the faerie world.

It’s the sign of a unique talent to be able to blend two disparate worlds so convincingly and to produce a compelling story. Like her protagonist, Ackley-McPhail’s book is a hybrid of literary genres. And like her protagonist, her book draws from the strengths of each and combines them into an entertaining, page-turning tale.

Rating: **** (Must Read)

Dark Quest, 2009: ISBN: 978-0-976901-6-7.

Disclosure: A review copy of the book was provided by the author.

Wild Transitions Contents