English Flavors by Laure-Anne Bosselaar [by Nin Andrews]

 

            I love to lick English the way I licked the hard

round licorice sticks the Belgian nuns gave me for six

good conduct points on Sundays after mass. 

            Love it when ‘plethora’, ‘indolence’, ‘damask’, 

or my new word: ‘lasciviousness,’ stain my tongue,

thicken my saliva, sweet as those sticks — black

            and slick with every lick it took to make daggers

out of them: sticky spikes I brandished straight up

to the ebony crucifix in the dorm, with the pride

            of a child more often punished than praised.

‘Amuck,’ ‘awkward,’ or ‘knuckles,’ have jaw-

breaker flavors; there’s honey in ‘hunter’s moon,’

            hot pepper in ‘hunk,’ and ‘mellifluous’ has aromas

of almonds and milk.  Those tastes of recompense

still bitter-sweet today as I roll, bend and shape

            English in my mouth, repeating its syllables

like acts of contrition, then sticking out my new tongue —

flavored and sharp — to the ambiguities of meaning.

 

 

I love this poem, which Laure-Anne Bosselair so graciously agreed to record for Lit Youngstown’s forthcoming series of poetry videos. I love the idea of tasting the words, relishing them, not as Mark Strand does in his famous poem, “Eating Poetry,” when ink runs from the corners of his mouth, but as a savorer of flavors and textures and sounds.  I especially love how she closes the poem with an image of herself sticking out her tongue as a Catholic receiving the sacrament in order to take in “the ambiguities of meaning.”  

Listening to her read in her beautiful Belgian accent, I am reminded of my childhood friend’s Belgian mother who used to call me mon petit chou. When she said chou, her lips pursed as if in a kiss, I felt so loved. I was certain mon petit chou meant something sweet like my little treasure. Or poppet.  Years later, when I was a French student, I discovered she had been calling me her little cauliflower. Apparently, it’s a French term of endearment. I assume it’s the sound of the word, chou, that makes it so. Or perhaps there is a reference or meaning that I am missing. But then again, maybe the French appreciate cauliflower a lot more than I do. As Bosselaar puts it, when learning a language, one must stick out one’s tongue “to the ambiguities of meaning.”

Comments

[John Brehm]

Wonderful poem!

[super mario bros]

I love this poem, which Laure-Anne Bosselair so graciously agreed to record for Lit Youngstown’s forthcoming series of poetry videos. I love the idea of tasting the words, relishing them, not as Mark Strand does in his famous poem, “Eating Poetry,” when ink runs from the corners of his mouth, but as a savorer of flavors and textures and sounds. I especially love how she closes the poem with an image of herself sticking out her tongue as a Catholic receiving the sacrament in order to take in “the ambiguities of meaning.”