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Abhainn an Ghlinn Deirg / River of the Red Glen
John Kennedy raised bees along the side of this river
in a spot hidden by fuchsia bushes
not far from the road on the Russell plot.
No one walking along the road would think
“I bet that dark bend in the river
has a hive buzzing with tireless worker bees,
a queen bee swollen with generations waiting their turn,
a civilization constructing itself, relatively at peace until disturbed,
although probably at bee-war against other hives.”
It’s not a common thought unless you are a beekeeper.
I think—and this is probably a moral judgment on my part—
most people are afraid of bees and don’t seek them out.
I used to have the same fear,
but many years ago, I was lying on the grass, reading a book,
and fell asleep.
I was awakened by a tickling feeling on my big toe.
A bee had landed there,
moving its legs the way bees do to gather pollen.
Tough luck bee, I thought.
I didn’t brush it off because I was groggy and it amused me
and because I was surprised at how cold bee feet felt.
I lost my fear of bees right then and there.
And I apologize to beekeepers everywhere for saying this,
but I think bees in honeycomb shelves
look like hot buttered popcorn
when you’re rushing to pay before the movie starts.
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Ed Barrett is the author of ten books of poetry, most recently The Leaves Are Something This Year: New and Selected Prose Poems (2023, Quale Press). He was born in Brooklyn, NY, and educated at Brooklyn College and Harvard, where he studied English literature, Greek, and Irish. His family home is in Dunquin, Co. Kerry, Ireland. He resides in Cambridge, MA, where he is Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at MIT.
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Bee all ye can BEE!
Fine poem!
Posted by: Bill Nevins | December 17, 2023 at 10:46 AM
I am allergic to bees but not to this wonderful.poem.
Posted by: Grace Cavalieri | December 17, 2023 at 10:55 AM
As I'm sure you, Ed Barrett, know, Emily Dickinson loved bees. But I doubt that she knew, or ever imagined, that their feet were cold, "shod with gauze," maybe, but not cold. There are a lot of factoids like that in this beautiful poem, and the popcorn simile is a very satisfying close. Thanks.
Posted by: Anne Harding Woodworth | December 17, 2023 at 10:57 AM
I love this poem for its focus on a specific place and how it shows us a brand new way to think about where we are. The early quoted speaker's words to himself are uncanny, and then we hear him move to his "moral judgement," a wonderful aside. The poem then shifts up into the wonderful short narrative of the bee on the toe. But then, speaking again of novelty (freshness) instead of ending with a predictably final, formulaic, profound gesture in conclusion, the poem ends with a wry apology and an idiosyncratic revealed kind of secret to beekeepers--a hilarious, endearing way to close the whole thing out!
Posted by: Don Berger | December 17, 2023 at 11:01 AM
I have been fortunate to see bees swarm, and to know there was nothing to be afraid of as I stood and watched thousands crowd so close together on a pole, to rest before continuing on their route to a new hive.
Thank you for this appreciative and beautifully devised poem, with its well-chosen illustration!
Posted by: Beth Joselow | December 17, 2023 at 11:04 AM
I once was making lemonade in a stand at an art fair and bees were all over my hands and arms. Stay still. They take a little sugar and come and go. Lovely poem.
Posted by: Barbara Henning | December 17, 2023 at 11:52 AM
bingo!
Posted by: lally | December 17, 2023 at 12:11 PM
Nice!
Posted by: Phyllis Rosenzweig | December 17, 2023 at 01:01 PM
Ah, the wonderful Ed Barrett with
his unerring affection, humor, and
perspicacity. Makes the saying “cold feet”
take on a whole new association. Honey.
Posted by: ANN LAUTERBACH | December 17, 2023 at 01:56 PM
I love this wonderful, funny poem and the beautiful artwork. It’s a favorite!
Posted by: Eileen | December 17, 2023 at 02:56 PM
Bees yes!
Wasps no!
Poem yes yes
Posted by: Clarinda | December 17, 2023 at 09:16 PM
To bee or not to bee: that is the answer. I love the poem’s title first in Irish and then in English. The Irish had Yeats. The English had Shakespeare. I like the order even if Shakespearean doters might bristle. Ed Barrett’s poem unpacks beautifully. Lines 8-9 offer an admonition to bees (and humans) “relatively at peace until disturbed” and “probably at bee-war against other hives.” The narrator states “I used to have the same fear” of bees (line 13) until “I was awakened by a tickling feeling on my big toe” (line 16). That line is almost cartoonish in its matter-of-fact description, and the words “I was surprised at how cold bee feet felt” (line 21) elicit another disarming smile. The next line clinches the transformation: “I lost my fear of bees right then and there.” Fear festers in the absence of benign interaction. Interestingly, queen bees and worker bees are all female and do all the work. Drone bees are all male and wait for pollen or nectar brought to them by female bees. Also, a drone bee’s only job (ahem) is to mate with the queen bee.
Posted by: Dr. Earle Hitchner | December 18, 2023 at 09:36 AM
Great poem! Save the bees!
Posted by: Chris Mason | December 18, 2023 at 12:14 PM
I hate that I’m afraid of bees and must say it depends on the context in which I find them. This poem, however, I would enjoy in any context.
Posted by: Eileen Estes | December 18, 2023 at 03:12 PM
Looking fine there, Ed, at Com Dhineol Dunquin. Joe, Rosanne, and I miss those wonderful days in Vermont and in Cambridge staying with you, listening to Ligetti and other Ashbery faves with Pierre and you all. What a poem! So lively and real with much more than meets the eye.
Posted by: Eugene Richie | December 23, 2023 at 01:54 PM