|Eye to Eye|
Feb 27, 2013
At the risk of belaboring the osprey photos, it recently occurred to me to crop them for a still more Gothic effect. Then of course I felt I had to find a poem that was at least loosely connected. I ended up at Lynn Emanuel’s “Frying Trout While Drunk,” which I find disturbing and moving.
The osprey—for convenience I’m making her female—seems to have more control over her cornetfish than the poem’s Mother has over her trout (or her man, or her daughter), but who knows. That huge bird had to work so long and hard at the skinny, bug-eyed fish that l I eventually lost interest. Who’s to say that this was easy work for the predator? Maybe she was struggling to stay balanced atop that pole. Maybe it was her first cornetfish, which required new skills for consumption.
Maybe she’d eat only a fraction of the fish before flying it home and offering it to her osprey-man “of lechery so solid/you could build a table on it/and when you did the blues would come to visit.” Maybe it will be “with the care of the very drunk” that she hands him the plate.
In a poem full of strong images, these lines struck me as particularly powerful:
She is a beautiful, unlucky woman
mother’s dress falling to the floor,
buttons ticking like seeds spit on a plate.
the knife in one hand and the trout
with a belly white as my wrist.
Posted by Banjo52 at 12:33 PM