My Mother's Kitchen

[jdeirmend]

PART I

My mother’s kitchen
has a large chopping block standing
right square in the middle of it

A sacrificial alter, often donned in the
pallid, sacred glow of fluorescence
like a dais raised to Gods unknown

Where we pay homage
with fork and cleaver
not to lord Jesus

Nor the world of light, of sense and sight
that clearing struck in the darkness
of all being, so long ago
by his words of good news

But to mother Earth:
that foul and mysterious creature –
Clymenestra, you would kill your own husband
Jocasta, lay with your own son
and you are that majestic, thrilling, sensual darkness, madam
that slimy churning beneath the world

That secret lurker
in the hearts and loins of all women
and all men

You are the one
I insist, and not without
a tremble

Whom we truly worship when we eat:
after civil prayers, a lip-service
to the Father
are said, “In Jesus’ name . . .”

And, like maddened wolves
with ravishing, eternal hunger
that knows no reason . . .
we feast on flesh again

[ChristopherSea]

Overall I liked this a lot! Here are some reactions and comments:

My mother’s kitchen
has a large chopping block standing
right square in the middle of it *may not need ‘right square’ with 'in the middle'*

A sacrificial alter, often donned in the *’donned’ seems like the wrong word, ‘erected’ maybe*
pallid, sacred glow of fluorescence
like a dais raised to Gods unknown

Where we pay homage
with fork and cleaver
not to lord Jesus

Nor the world of light, of sense and sight
that clearing struck in the darkness
of all being, so long ago
by his words of good news

But to mother Earth:
that foul and mysterious creature –
Clymenestra, you would kill your own husband *sp ’Clytemnestra’ (Agamemnon’s wife and murderer)*
Jocasta, lay with your own son
and you are that majestic, thrilling, sensual darkness, madam
that slimy churning beneath the world *These interjecting Greek references seem disconnected*

That secret lurker
in the hearts and loins of all women
and all men

You are the one
I insist, and not without
a tremble

Whom we truly worship when we eat:
after civil prayers, a lip-service
to the Father
are said, “In Jesus’ name . . .”

And, like maddened wolves
with ravishing, eternal hunger
that knows no reason . . . *you don't need ellipsis mid sentence, the thought is complete as written*
we feast on flesh again

Jd, the opening three stanzas and the closing two are great! Most of the intervening strophes stray and distract for me. The Greek references seem tangential and belong in some other ‘mother poem.’ I would keep: 'But to Mother Earth' and build one stanza to join the other aforementioned five for brevity and impact. See what you think. Cheers/Chris

[ellajam]

This was a pleasure to read, for me it had some weak and some very strong parts. Here are a few notes.

PART I

My mother’s kitchen I might try "In my mother's kitchen, a large chopping block stands"
has a large chopping block standing
right square in the middle of it I like "square" here as centered and the shape

A sacrificial alter, often donned in the maybe cut "often donned"
pallid, sacred glow of fluorescence
like a dais raised to Gods unknown

Where we pay homage
with fork and cleaver comma?
not to lord Jesus

Nor the world of light, of sense and sight
that clearing struck in the darkness I'm lost here
of all being, so long ago
by his words of good news

But to mother Earth:
that foul and mysterious creature –
Clymenestra, you would kill your own husband I found this distracting, I could lose this and the following 2 lines
Jocasta, lay with your own son
and you are that majestic, thrilling, sensual darkness, madam
that slimy churning beneath the world

That secret lurker possibly attach to the above? period at the end?
in the hearts and loins of all women
and all men

You are the one
I insist, and not without
a tremble

Whom we truly worship when we eat:
after civil prayers, a lip-service I don't know that this and the 2 next lines add anything you haven't already said
to the Father
are said, “In Jesus’ name . . .”

And, like maddened wolves
with ravishing, eternal hunger
that knows no reason . . .
we feast on flesh again

Table as alter is classic, I enjoyed your take on it.
Thanks for the read

[jdeirmend]

Chris, thanks! I will give your suggestions some careful attention.

Ella, thanks as well. I appreciate the remarks, and will do likewise.

This poem, FYI, was written as an exercise for a creative writing class I took in 2006 or 2007. I had just come home, having completed graduate studies overseas, and was busy psychoanalyzing the repressiveness of my devout upbringing. Of course, none of this has to have any bearing on its significance as art, per se. But I am attached to some of the references, as well as some of the vaguely philosophical ideas presented, if simply because they tell a story that I had a deep need to speak out loud.

From my perspective, the effort was to contrast the paternal, authoritarian, overbright experience of a waking Christian life, with the dark world of dream, wish and fantasy that the former shoves under, ignores and disavows. That violence is a condition of the self-same sort of existence, for instance, is something that no one really cares to think about or admit. Thus is the gospel a foil, from the poem's perspective, for the very thing it covers over: its origins in violence. However, I feel like the poem slips into a sort of morbid fascination with the latter that doesn't sit too well with me, which is why I had the thought of making this a multi-part piece.

Anyways, thanks again for taking the time.