A little less wine: Childhood Poems Blog Carnival

One of my colleagues at UTSA -- Karen Jensen -- decided to take part in a "blog carnival." Everyone involved is writing about childhood poems. And since this is also a poetry blog, at least somewhat, I decided to join in on the fun.

I have to admit that I came to poetry late. My parents were not particularly invested in my education -- they were struggling with one of my older brothers -- so I sort of got left to my own devices. I read what I could, and as my parents aren't much for poetry, I didn't get a lot of exposure until I was well into school. So until my teachers started bringing me poetry, I read a lot of fiction and non-fiction.

Then, in middle school, poetry started to come alive. One teacher introduced me to haiku. I fell in love. There was something about the intimate focus that drew me in. Of course, at that stage in my life, I also liked boundaries. I was a bit of a science and math nerd at that point -- I still had hopes of either being an aerospace engineer and/or astronaut -- so the 5-7-5 syllables were just what I needed. Unfortunately, like most children, I didn't see beyond the rules, and I never quite understood the poems my teacher provided us.

One of those poems was Basho's famous frog poem:

The old pond --

a frog jumps in,

sound of water.

For me, as a child, this was intriguing. I spent many a lazy days at my neighborhood pond. I enjoyed watching the so-called wildlife -- the ducks, the minnows, and the frogs -- enjoy the unkempt pond. It was always fun to play around the pond, and so I quickly connected to the idea of the old pond. When you are as young as I was, the pond, which I had visited for well over six years, felt old to me. On top of that, tThe pond was my get-away. It was a sanctuary where I could dream and play. In fact, much of my youth was spent playing make believe games around the pond's edge and in the undergrowth nearby. My pond experience was poetic.

And of course, I loved frogs. Despite being a girl, I enjoyed frogs. I grew up playing with boys more than girls, and so found interest in more typically boy pursuits. We loved catching the small frogs that made it into our yards after a good rain. And often, we would take those frogs down to the pond. I may have been a tomboy, but there was always a wildlife rescuer within me. When I first read the poem, the many re-locations came to mind: carrying the frog in a shoebox up to the pond and releasing it at the water's edge.

However, the last part alluded me when I was younger. I would think, "Sure, you hear the water splash, but what is so great about that?" I had not learned what haiku was about, and so the last line was lost on me.

Despite that disconnect, I was still intrigued. I decided to re-visit the form in graduate school -- while pursuing an MFA in poetry. During my undergraduate years I came to learn a bit about the form, that it is the essence of a moment and may not carry any deep meaning. I was also told it was Zen; the moment encapsulates a greater understanding on life. This was not enough, so I sought to learn more. I learned about the seasonal nature of the poems, the personal nature of them (which meant they can have greater meaning or a simple, personal one), and the immediacy of them (most are written on the spot). I learned they take many forms -- they can be part of a group of poems by one person or a group, which would dictate the goal of the poems. I also learned the rules; I only had the vaguest ideas of the rules.

Now, with my greater knowledge of this incredible form, I turn often to the haiku -- many posts on this blog are proof of that. In fact, writing about wine and writing haikus (and their predecessor the tanka) match so well together. As with all culinary delights, wine is a moment, the taste and smells one enjoys as the aromas reach up from the glass, pass the lips, soak the tongue, and slide down the throat are as fleeting as a haiku. And like haiku, there is a natural and seasonal aspect to wine. The two pair well:

1. Spring

Vibrant colors dance,

come to life in each bloom, bud,

and glasses of wine.

2. Summer

Watch: heat haze draws near,

wraps its sun drenched arms around:

I need chilled white wine.

3. Fall

Leaves swap their green coats

for yellow, orange, chocolate;

they want to be red wine.

4. Winter

Cinnamon, nutmeg

collected spices drift up

from my cup of mulled wine.

And so, I continue on this poetic journey, drinking one glass of wine at a time.

If you wish to enjoy more of the blog carnival, thoughts on childhood poetry, check out Professor J's Place. And then stop by Bluebird Blvd for a thoughtful take on the power of poetry.


And I keep forgetting to add: share your poems! What was your first poem? What about the first poem to really inspire you?

13. Ikkyu

13. Ikkyu

the indulgent monk proselytizes: know, experience, enjoy all the world

with my vice in hand, I toast to you

From Crow with No Mouth: 

     nobody understands why we do what we do

     this cup of sake does

Ikkyu was a Buddhist abbot in fifteenth century Japan. Despite his profession as a religious man, he indulged in the world around him. From his point of view, how could you understand life, and so the teachings of Buddha, if you did not know the all of it. He also accepted the Buddhist belief that mortality was fleeting and that the world we lived within was meaningless in the greater scheme. So  in order to be the best monk and person he could be, he accepted his vices and felt obliged to indulge in them. His most notable vice was sex. In his senior years, he took a young (20 or so year old) wife who was blind. In his last years, he devoted much of his poetry to her, especially poems about making love to her. But we wrote about all of his vices.

Now most of us wouldn't think of sake as wine, but it is rice wine. So for Ikkyu, sake is his wine. And as he wrote, only the wine understands what we do. There is something visceral and natural about this concept. Since the wine understands us, we can use it as a gateway to understand ourselves: we know ourselves when we give into such indulgences, experience and take joy in them. It is in this act that we may know ourselves. Of course, we know because it gets to the root of who we are. Serious wine drinkers and enthusiasts know this. We know it is a big part of who we are. Since starting this blog, I have had to come to that revelation.  In fact, as my husband and I talked on Sunday this week, I realized that wine is a part of me. It has come to define a part of my life. 

So, thanks to Ikkyu and his encouragement to enjoy the things in life that many will tell us to avoid. I have learned about myself. What I have learned is that I love wine. Kompai Ikkyu-senesei.

12. Hot

12. Hot
Slips in smooth, a touch
warms my tongue, slides down my throat,
heating my stomach.

Spreading, the heat moves through me, 
settles: my body relaxes


Hot wines are wines that have high alcohol content and leave a warm sensation in the mouth and other areas. One hot wine, that comes to mind, was a Reserve Barbera Becker released in 2009/2010. This wine had the highest alcohol content of any wine they had ever produced. From the first taste, I was blown away.

Hot wines can be recognized right away. As the sip fills the mouth, a hint of warmth becomes apparent. From my experience, the warmth is a pleasant one. It isn't hot per se, but a softening in the mouth.

The hot wines have a lasting effect. Towards the back of the mouth and down the throat, they stay warm. Again, it doesn't burn, but rather, it is a soothing warmth. At this point, the sensation begins to radiate out.

As the wine reaches and builds in the stomach, the sensation from early starts to grow. The wine's warmth slowly spreads out. I notice it most on my muscles. As the sensation spreads, especially from the stomach region, my muscles loosen and relax, like applying a heating pad. It is a pleasant and relaxing sensation.

Now, as the warm weather closes in, hot wines aren't quite as pleasant; I know I may turn to one when I've spent too long in a building with a super powerful AC. With that in mind, these are GREAT winter wines. When I first tried to the Barbera, it was in the winter or early spring, so it fit wonderfully. However, I most enjoyed it when I used it to celebrate buying my first house.

11. Grapes

11. Grapes

Frozen green grapes
provide a refreshing treat
on a warn summer afternoon.

Black grapes, large, full globes
seem decadent when eaten
for a simple snack.

Red grapes, full of potential,
belong to wine, slowly fermenting
and aging into a tempting beverage.


At the heart of this blog is the grape, so it seemed only just to make this the G entry. I have always been a grape lover. Grape candy, grape soda, grape juice, you name it, I love it. And that desire to eat and drink them has hardly every faded.

When I was young, my family went through a tough economic time. There was little money to spare, so I often had to make due. One trick was dealing with what to eat in the summer. Since my mother wouldn't buy much in the way of cold snacks -- she only bought enough for one serving per day, and I wanted more due to the heat and playing outside -- I had to find refreshment elsewhere. One of those tricks she taught me was freezing green grapes. She would clean them and then store them in the freezer. Several hours later, we would have a round, cold ball that was ready to be eaten in a variety of ways. We could suck on it like a piece of candy, slowly letting it melt. As a child, though, I would nibble at it, breaking away a small piece at a time and crunching on the ice crystals held by the skin.

When I got older, I started eating other types of grapes -- during my youth I would only eat green grapes. My husband kept trying to make me eat others, red and black specifically. Though reds were tasty, there was something about black grapes. These grapes, especially when they are large and ripe, with a tight skin over the flesh, they are incredible. I found they are my favorite to just eat.

As for the red grape, it is a prized item these days. Since I am a big red wine fan, these grapes are very important.  Without them, I couldn't enjoy a glass of wine. In fact, I will forever think of grape stomping. The feel of the grapes squishing between my toes and coating the bottom of my foot. Then there is the sticky residue sticking to my feet, ankles, and just up my legs. It is how I see grapes before they are wine.

8. Drops of God

8. Drops of God
Are they soft and gold?
Are they deep, lush garnet gems?
Are they strawberry?

I can taste heaven -- love, care --
heart of devoted winemakers.

Drops of God is an inspirational manga (Japanese comic) by Tadashi Agi and Shu Okimoto. This lesson in wine, through a great story, has touched people all over the world. In Korea, it lead to a large increase in win drinking, as well as in China and Taiwan. This long running manga has had a TV show as well. And I can honestly say, I was inspired as well; this blog is proof of that.

Besides being a wine primer, this work encourages a love of wine and a personal connection.By the second volume, the main characters are out trying to find excellent French wines at a reasonable price, and they succeeded. The lesson here is taste; even inexpensive wines can be incredible.

But the main lesson learned is simple: wine must be experienced. When a person drinks wine, he/she must allow the wine to speak to them. In the first volume, the lead finds himself drinking and taking notice for the first time. What does he see? Queen. It is a rendition of rock legends Queen in their 70's heyday, circa "Bohemian Rhapsody." As a Queen fan, I was hooked. Mostly, it let me learn what drinking wine is all about. Good wines have more than flavors, they have emotional resonance.

Though I have a hard time just letting myself go -- I have gotten too technical in my poems -- when I do, the wine has new meaning. So far, as this blog is concerned, that is the Malbec post. But as I wait for volume 3 -- released last week to book stores and this week to comic book stores (I like supporting my local businesses), I will have to keep reminding myself to just love and experience the wine.

Kampai!

7. Cabernet

7. Cabernet

Hard packed earth, sun, water:

swaddled the roots, left bare the vine.

I wait for Cabernet.

Cabernet Sauvignon was my entry point into wine. I randomly tried Becker Vineyard's Iconoclast -- a very reasonable buy and a good wine -- and started my journey. For me, it is the essence of my wine journey because now I am trying my own hand at growing, and it is Cabernet.

My little Cabernet vine is teaching an important rule about wine: patience. I have to wait to see what it will do. First, we waited to see if it was still alive after planting. That week and a half was a long one, one with regular check-ups. I so wanted to touch the plant and help it, but I knew, if I did, I could do more harm than good.

Now, my little vine is growing. My two main branches have leaves. Also I see where I may have more very soon. I am excited at this point as the plant grows. I know this will fade as it just keeps doing what it is doing. And at this stage, though I may get more leaves and great size, there will be no big changes for awhile. The buds breaking was the last major change I'll see for awhile.

From what I learned, it will be at least a year, maybe two, before I have grapes. And even if I have them next Fall (this Fall is right out), they will be of little use. When they come, I will reach my next milestone. Then, I'll have to wait until the first usable round grows.

As I said, I just have to wait. I can water and keep the surface of the soil clean. At some point, it will need some help staying up, but it will be a lot of watching and not a lot of doing. This isn't so different from other aspects of wine. I have slowly had to learn, slowly had to explore, before I could come to this place. There were times I wanted to rush, but I couldn't. The same goes for drinking big reds like Cabernet. These wines must open up; they must have time to breathe. I often try to decrease that time with an aerator, but sometimes, I still just have to wait. And, as I keep learning, when I wait, I am rewarded.

6. Bold

6. Bold

Dark, deep tannins grasp,

seeping in, complex tones sway,

desired red wine.

Slowly, my heart, take it in.

Let the heat slide down, satisfied.


I've recently read that bold isn't much of a wine term; it is mainly used in marketing. As such, it isn't a clear definition. But there is often a generally accepted idea, that bold wines are heavy with tannins. This gives some freedom in the definition, as is the case with so many abstracts. 

For me, bold does have the heavy tannin, but it is a wine with strong flavors, often many not quite melding but acting in harmony of one another.I usually associate the deeper berry flavors -- blackberry especially -- and other darker fruits -- currants -- with this. I also would say many bold wines have a hint of chocolate, as well as either a smoky, leathery, or oaky taste. And it doesn't take a genius to know that these flavors do no blend. Instead, they work alongside one another. Often one moves into another, but even more likely, they work as a two flavors in one. Fruit and chocolate naturally do this. When the darker fruits are put into dark chocolate, no one flavor takes over. At times, one is more powerful than the rest. One the edges, they are both there, both noticeable but match like related related colors. For me, I think of my chocolate covered blackberries -- where the chocolate is thick, you taste chocolate; towards the center, it is all blackberry; but where the two meet, it is chocolate and blackberry, separate, equal, and yet, together.

I also often connect bold wines warmth; they are wines that seem to be warm in the mouth and on its way down the throat. Very bold wines are warming on the palate, they almost smother it, like a rich sauce or melted chocolate. As they slide down the throat, they stay warm, like a warm drink on a cold day. Once they accumulate in the stomach, they have a spreading warmth. They are delightful, but not always best for hot summer days.

In the end, my definition does share similarities with most people's, and so both definitions would definitely accept the Cabernet's --my next post by the way -- as bold wines. But I would go beyond that and allow some medium bodied, and not just full bodied, reds into this category. One person I read would place Malbecs here. Honestly, I would place most Texas Malbecs, as the soil adds the deeper complexities more reminiscent of Cabs; however, smoother Malbecs don't always match up. The Malbecs that are more fruit forward and  very smooth aren't bold; they don't have the more visceral effect of a bold wine. One wine I saw missing from most lists, that I would put near the top, is Tempranillo. These wines are always bold; their spicy nature makes them powerful. And, their rich tannins create a depth of flavor like that of a Cab. 


So what is bold? I think bold is what you make it. It will have the distinct flavor of tannins, but is that enough? What you find excites you when you drink a tannin rich red is bold for you. So, be bold.

2. And the vine begins to grow

2. New Growth                                                             

The vine’s white nubs grow

Downy, fragile buds breaking

Free from the vine’s bark

Recently, I was lucky enough to attend a vine planting clinic at William+Chris Winery in Hye, Texas. I was lucky enough to learn a little about grape growing from Chris Brundrett (Chris of William+Chris). The short session under the sun gave me food for thought. Particularly, I realized why so many poets have a thing for gardening, farming, and growing. The link between the two is obvious.

Grapes are temperamental from the start. First, they are not fond of oxygen. When the vines re planted, they are packed down tight so as to make sure the air doesn’t reach their roots. They like to be snuggled into the earth, surrounded by the dark, soft soil. I suppose poetry is not so different. A good poem is temperamental, as it wants just the right words packed in it. The feelings a poem expresses are nestled in a blanket of words, and if the blanket doesn’t grasp it just right, the meaning is muddled and unclear.

As I have learned in the last week, since planting my vine, grapes take their time. For over a week, my husband kept fretting that we had killed our vine (after the vine clinic we took home our own vine of Cabernet Sauvignon). Every day, I reminded him to be patient. Well, in just over a week, we are seeing our first signs. Two of the four possible nubs on our vine are clearly growing.

One other looks like it is about to grow as well. These growths are small, only a mere fraction of what the vine may look like if we stick to this. This is a careful waiting game we are planning. Over the last few years, that has been my relationship to poetry. I keep waiting to see my nubs grow. I think I have some ideas, something to write, but somehow, I can’t get anything to start. I guess I didn’t quite have the inspiration. Now I have a clear topic, something to channel my ideas through. As of this posting, my nubs are finally growing and the words are starting flow. Hopefully, if I am patient, they will get better and there will be more of them.

In both, grapes/wine and poetry, it is all about care. I guess that can be said of all gardening, and I definitely believe poetry is reminiscent of the work put in to grow something. In both cases, we have to be willing to dig deep and make a hole, create a place for the grapes or words to grow from. Then, we nurture as it grows. In time, I will have to prune my grape vine, no different than the revising one must do to any good poem (or any writing for that matter). But in the end, we hope for the same thing, a wondrous elixir that feeds the soul.

1. Planting

1. Planting

With care, place letters.

Compact down the heart, mind, soul

Airtight to keep safe.

Fruit will bud, ripen, and grow:

Take care to harvest each word.

Today I planted a new grape: Vitis Poema. I hope to cultivate this plant to make wine, a wine of words. Some of my varietals will be words for words, others will be for wine. Will I plant more? Only time will tell. But like vineyard tenders and vintners, I'll start with a few and see what comes of my crop.

Poetry and wine share a common birth. Poems are born from care and craft, much like any good wine. Both, first, must see its main ingredient, its essence, planted. Poets must grow words to shape a poem, as a winemaker must grow his grapes to make wine. So begins my newest endeavor.

Poetry and wine also share a common link for me; my experience with both are parallel. When I first started to read poetry, I read whatever I could easily come across (which often meant what my teachers in middle and high school provided). In that experience I read a lot of material that had no impact or no life (at least for me). And well, my writing is not something I am proud of, but it was necessary to work through the junk to appreciate the good work that was yet to come. The same goes for wine. I drank what I was given, not thinking much about what I liked. I nearly stopped drinking wine because of that. But, like poetry, I had to get through the junk first.

In my early years, I did find a few gems; as a high school senior I came across John Donne's "Valediction: Forbidding Mourning." That work has stayed with me; it grew to be more powerful as I experienced more of poetry and life. It is a work of pure love; one I hope I can one day write myself. As for wine, an early gem was Becker Vineyard's Cabernet Sauvignon Iconoclast. It is my standard; all good wines must be at least as good as that one.

But I wouldn't be writing today if things hadn't changed. In college, I found myself introduced to more and more poetry. However, I was encouraged  to seek out what I liked, to discover. More than that, I was aided in this quest. Finally, people started recommending poets. I have since found many I love. One of my favorite recommendations was Ikkyu. His poetry is raw and elegant. It showcases a greater beauty in the most normal and the most human; basically, he can take what many would find profane or lowly and give it humanity. The same goes for wine. Several years ago, after the wine discovery, I had the chance to go to Becker. While I was there, I was directed through my tasting; they helped me to find the Becker wines I would like. To this day, one of my all time favorites is their Malbec, a wine I came across on that first visit.

I have had many teachers for both my verse and my wine. All have helped me see more. All have helped me develop my love. To them, this blog is dedicated. So, today my vine is planted. Tomorrow, my fruit will grow.