My place has a gas stove
so I think of Sylvia
whenever I’m cooking.
That’s okay— it’s rare.
I worry I’ll bungle
my kitchen efforts, die
as wages for my attempt
to eat healthy.
There’s an ironic note
on the fridge.
(Inspired by Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt and Living Poetry’s Monday Prompt.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Love the irony in this poem.
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Thanks, Pat! It’s always interesting to see what comes out of these random word prompts.
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‘Sylvia’ – I kind-of met Ted Hughes once. When I was at University he came to do a poetry reading. He read out a poem about a lamb being born – a difficult birth. There was a crash behind me, and a young woman had passed out – it was too much for her. Being from farming stock what he was describing didn’t hit me so hard – I appreciated how well he was describing it. I think maybe it was something out of her ken, and ….she fainted. She was taken out, given a drink of water, had a sit down and picked up again.
Then, Ted Hughes was in the Union bar sitting with some of the English Department lecturers, one of whom said me to come and meet Ted, as he knew I liked his work. So, I did. And………he said hello, he was ok with me, but……I felt like he was a weight, sitting there. There was a heavy…thing, hanging over him and around him. I sat for a few minutes, but found this hard to take – though he was being fine – talking a bit with the people there. Then, I said something or other and left.
Later, finding out more of him and his life – ( I also like Sylvia Plath’s work – ‘The Bell Jar’ – chimes with me – greatly) – and …..phew, if each had been with someone more steady, maybe they would have been happier? Or maybe that’s how it has to be sometimes.
Anyway – I could see why I’d felt that weight around him – there was a weight around him – that weight being – his way of being.
Now, I might have been able to deal with it better, then, I was young and dealing with my own weights.
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Very cool! I’ve met someone who briefly spoke with Ted Hughes. (In regards to dealing with things better as we get older, let’s hope that’s always the case for us.)
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Such a brilliant poem!
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You flatter me. Thank you!
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You are so very welcome. Bartholomew ❣️❣️❣️
It’s my pleasure as always!
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Her story has always haunted me. Take care. I will be watching for your next poem.
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Thanks, LuAnne. Good to know someone will be paying attention.
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Such a sad story – Sylvia!
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Indeed. She had a rough short life.
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Hey Bart, that started dark and I was afraid to find out where you were headed with it. Nice job. I always appreciate a soft landing.
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Thanks, Professor! I was cooking a frozen pizza in that oven when you commented and survived.
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Be safe!
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It hasn’t exploded yet!
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Thankfully!
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