Food & Gardening

An eggplant on the vine


An eggplant on the vine


Some of the harvested eggplants


Eggplant with onions and two cheeses (with homemade wheat bread)



Homemade pita bread and wheat bread


Homemade onion pizza (so very easy to make, and delicious!)


Homemade sausage and extra cheese pizza


Blackberry-blueberry pie 2.0 (not yet baked)


Blackberry-blueberry pie 2.0 (after baking)


Hydrangeas in the front yard (long gone by now)


Strawberries from the yard

Sewer Blues + In the Garden

A little over half a decade ago, during the housing bubble's upward rise, President Bush, like countless other people on cable TV, at banks, at mortgage lenders, in the media, actively promoted home ownership. It was touted as a basic right, almost, anchor its centrality to the mythic American dream. (The more pressing issue of affordable housing, whether private or public, for everyone, was removed from public discourse.) As we now know, the bubble has burst completely, hundreds of thousands people have lost their homes and millions are underwater and unable to pay for them, hundreds of domestic banks have failed, and the US and global economies have taken a severe hit. I can't say I was prescient about or fully understood the housing bubble, though C and I were always skeptical of the ease with which so many people were snapping up homes, flipping them, and spending down their equity (I hadn't even realized the HELOC madness was going on until years later, though a close friend of mine lost his home in part because he'd used it like a charge card), given the hurdles we had to vault to purchase our house. I used to launch on this topic to people, and I'm sometimes wondered whether they were thinking, What a bore and so wrong too. On top of this, and again, I wasn't aware of the various schemes people were using to remodel, renovate, and rebuild homes, I also couldn't understand how nonchalant people were about the expenditures involved, based on our experiences with having to shell out small fortunes to address basic problems a house may eventually present, including but not limited to: addressing a leaking roof by having to completely re-tar and re-flash it; replacing a hot water heater; having a chimney properly lined; replacing an air conditioning and heating unit; and, this weekend, the replacement of a basement underground, 100-year-old ceramic drainpipe, breached in multiple places by a a giant sycamore's roots, that leads to the sewer line out front. This is only part 1; part two will involve tearing up the street out front and replacing the rest of the badly cracked pipe where it enters the sewer. (We've fortunately avoided two other nightmares many owners of older homes face: replacing the windows, and rewiring the house. The previous owner took care of those crises at some point in the 1970s and 1980s.) In all the huzzah about buying houses, there's never--or seldom, from what I can tell--any discussion of potential multiple costs beyond the mortgage and possibly remodeling, and no matter how well a house is built or has been maintained, the problems start to rack up with age. Of course if you told most people about these costs, they might decide not to go through with the purchase, but then again, you can't predict what'll need fixing, and unless you're a contractor yourself or have oodles of time on your hands, you may need to pay other people to do the job properly for you. (We went through four roofers, including one who wanted to cover the leaking chimney with stucco and chicken wire (!), one who went insane, and another, an Australian, who was crazy as a loon, but actually did what was needed and stopped water pouring into the walls.)  It leads me to say that home ownership is a wonderful thing, especially if you can afford it, but even if you can (just barely): buyer beware!

That said, one of the joys of owning a home can be having and cultivating a garden . Since I had to be home for the major repair, C and I spent part of today in the garden and did some new planting for this year. He'd already planted tomatoes, which are growing steadily.  Some of the perennials, like the roses; the rosemary bush, as tall as a tree; the African sage; the strawberry patches; the blackberry bushes; the azaleas; the lilac bush; the rhododendron; the butterfly bush; and the honeysuckle vines, are back, at superstrength. Curiously, the collard greens, which returned late in the summer and early fall, and which we didn't harvest, are growing again, with striking yellow flowers adorning the fence. We decided to change our herb and vegetable mix this year by planting oregano; tarragon; parsley; lavender; dill; and basil; and habanero peppers; sweet peppers; eggplants; cucumbers; zucchini; yellow squash; broccoli; snap peas; and heirloom and regular beets. (We'll have to put some red cabbage, carrots, and onions into the ground at a later date.) Working in the garden always is enjoyable, and today was calming counterpoint to watching the basement jackhammered and dug up, though its floor is now partially repaved and the new pipe is in, at least up to the sidewalk. After we pay for the rest of the necessary work, those homegrown herbs and produce will definitely come in handy.

Some photos:


Collard green flowers (you can see the growing leaves at right)

Honeysuckle

Blackberry bush, with tiny blackberries

African sage

Broccoli plants

Some fruits and herbs (In back: thyme, strawberries; in front: marigolds, tarragon, oregano)

The lilac bush

Assorted plants (Zucchini, green bell peppers, eggplant, habanero peppers, green peas, sweet basil)

In back: strawberry patch; in front: oregano, parsley, and heirloom and regular beets (dark patch of soil)

Break + White House Garden

Grades are in, it's the first day of Spring Break, and I am sitting happily here at home petting one cat as her sister reclines on the kitchen counter in a pool of sunlight and dreams, I imagine, about the backyard she faces, which C and I call "Cat TV," since said cat never tires of staring through the backdoor panes of glass or the kitchen window onto the narrow strip of lawn and garden remains that is now mostly brown and blanketed by river magnolia leaves and the occasional errant plastic bag or potato chip package, but which often provides a staging ground for birds, cats, insects of all sorts, and, I'm told, opossum. Later this week, I'll be doing my part to return the yard and the little flower, fruit and vegetable plots bordering it to full vibrancy, as I've also dreamt of them in full bloom during this past long and relentless winter. I also hope some spring weather arrives soon, with a little warmth before the April rains begin. There is nothing, unfortunately, that I can do about that, except hope and wait.

***

I was glad to see that the White House decided to start a garden, as Chez Panisse owner, chef and locavore guru Alice Waters, and many others, online and off, have been urging. On Friday First Lady Michelle Obama and 26 DC fifth graders took to the allotted plots on the South Lawn with rakes and pitchforks to begin the process of transforming it into a garden that will provide fresh fruits and vegetables not only for the White House but also for Miriam's Kitchen, a facility providing meals for the homeless in DC. I imagine the First Family will be employing professional gardeners to maintain the plot, but I do hope Mrs. Obama, the president and their daughters hit the soil now and then. They feel as exhausted and yet restored as any session on the basketball court or weight machines can provide. I see from the plans below that they've wisely decided not to cultivate blackberries; I love them and highly recommend blackberry sorbet and blackberry mojitos for when the hottest days of midsummer roll on up, but as I tell everyone who's interested, unless you're willing to be vigilant, your entire plot will be a blackberry thicket if you're not careful, and not even thick gardening gloves are much of a match for the tiny switchblades the thorned versions wield to ensure their dominance over not only predators, but their worst enemies, gardeners.

From the Garden (Finished Post)

Passing Strange unfortunately is closing on July 20, 2008, so if you can, catch it! Spike Lee is going to film it on Saturday, so it ought to be available on DVD soon, but if you can, see it live!

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Some photos of the garden's fruits:


A few days ago, a tomato and the first ripe blackberries and blueberries

Today, many more blackberries and a blueberry

An alpine strawberry (aka squirrels' desert)

Some of the ripe blueberries

More blackberries, ripe and unripe

Interestingly enough, the blackberries have provided an opportunity to watch evolution in action. We originally planted two different types of blackberry bushes, one thorned, the other not. I don't believe anyone told C or me that the former was hardier than the latter, but in any case we soon saw that the thorned bushes were more aggressive (and more capable of keeping away animals--those thorns are like tiny razors, I kid you not), though both plants kept growing and originally bore fruit. But we cut both back, and eventually the thorned ones have taken over. They have crept underneath and across the yard, underneath the fence and into our neighbor's yard, and are full of fruit. The thornless bushes have almost completely disappeared, and last year, were virtually fruitless. Which is unfortunately, because the fruit was just as good, and much easier to pick.

In the Garden + Oe & Pamuk on Writing

The weather has been so lovely since I've been home that I must thank the gods. Just before the end of the school, when it was still cool and rainy in Chicago, the New York area suffered through a heat wave that has been conspicuously absent since I've returned. Instead, it's been intermittently warm and cool, rainy but not especially muggy, and sunny hours have given way to brief showers before switching back, especially over here in New Jersey. One result is that the gardens are thriving. C did most of the early spring work since I was toiling in the concrete, glass and limestone fields of Evanston, but I did manage to spend one weekend months ago removing the thick ground cover of magnolia leaves that had the effect of protecting a number of the plants during the mild winter.

So far, most of the perennials have returned: among the herbs, two types of sage, African and pineapple, are back, as is the lavender, the rosemary, the mint, the lemon balm, and the thyme. C. planted dill and basil, which are also flourishing. A colleague asked how to keep basil growing from year to year, and I haven't figured out an answer yet; every time I've planted and harvested it that's been the ended of it, but perhaps other gardeners have some thoughts on this. Slightly limey soil does seem to help it take root.

Among the flowers, the roses, rhododendrons, azaleas, and honeysuckle have all bloomed, and the hydrangeas are now in spectacular form. The fruits and vegetables are also in very good shape: the blueberry bush I bought is in the ground, alongside the other, the two different types of strawberries are already growing, as are the blackberries, whose bushes are again creeping across the lawn, and brussel sprouts, red cabbage, collard greens, tomatoes, and peppers are also emerging.

In general, the backyard is turning into an English garden. I will take more photos when we get a respite from the rain and I can take the lawnmower to it.

Here are some photos:


The hydrangeas, after a rainstorm

The blackberry bushes in front (the blueberries are hidden), with the honeysuckle canopy behind it

Mint

Two types of hosta, growing in what was once a bare patch at the back of the yard

Red cabbage (some of the leaves have proved delicious for caterpillars)

Rosemary and pineapple sage

Budding strawberries (which have since disappeared--a cat? a rabbit? an opossum?)

African sage, with tiny basil sprigs at left, and peppers (?)

Tomatoes and dill (the wispy sprigs at right)

Brusssel sprouts (at left), peppers, African sage

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Daily Yomiuri Online newspaper offers a brief snippet of a conversation with two of the leading international writers, Turkish Nobel Laureate Orhan Pamuk (whose highly praised novel Snow I finally finished after months of sustained effort), and Japanese Nobel Laureate Oe Kenzaburo (whose Seventeen is one of the best novels I've ever read about a far-right young nut). From the interview:

Oe: I believe poetry is the best kind of literature. I wrote my first poem as a primary school student. I looked inside a dewdrop on a persimmon leaf and found another world inside it, and wrote about it in a short poem. Unfortunately, I could not become a poet, but in my novels I continue to claim the existence of other worlds.

My writing style involves repeated rewrites. These revisions comprise 80 percent of my life as a novelist. I am trying to achieve a kind of polyphonic expression that I learned from [Russian novelist Fyodor] Dostoyevsky. I want to create a collective voice expressing a truth that transcends the voices of individuals. This can be achieved in a novel, but not in poetry.

Schoolery + Gardening + Good Review + Poem: Narlan Teixeira

Back to business, or classes, as it were. The new quarter started yesterday, and I'm teaching a huge lecture course, so I'll probably be blogging even more infrequently until late June (mainly, as I can already see, because I'll be answering student emails nonstop until then). But I'm going to aim to post a daily poem (by someone other than myself, of course) since this is Poetry Month (I'm leaving off the "national" part), and as we all know, we cannot live on bread and water and news of the Obama-Clinton battle alone. We must have POETRY. So please see below.

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During the break week, which involved more working than breaking or braking, I did hit the garden a little. The mild New Jersey winter, along with the saucer magnolia tree's fallen leaf-carpet, which I finally removed, preserved a number of the herbs and vegetables, so the rosemary, thyme, strawberries (regular and Alpine), African sage, and the brussel sprouts and red cabbage are all either already growing or set to return. The lavender also survived and is thriving again (lime in the soil), and the blackberry bushes, like the honeysuckle, look ready to return to full flower too. Some shoots have crept all the way underneath the lawn to where the rose bushes are. I did buy another blueberry plant, because the first one only produced a few (maybe 4?) blueberries last year, so perhaps this one will turn out to be more fruitful, and when I'm back, if I can find another fig tree, I'll try that once again.

Among the plants that are ready to blossom, the saucer magnolia has giant furry buds, the lilac bush is also budding, and the rhododendron, which has never properly flowered (though all our neighbors' do), also has gigantic buds. Only a few plants have already bloomed: in back, a few hyacinths from buds I bought at the Garfield Park Conservatory in Chicago continue to reappear, in brilliant and colorful form every year, and the crocuses in the front of the house, near the ever-shedding sycamore tree, have started to blossom and are beautiful, so I'll ask C to take some photos of those and I'll try to remember to post them.

◊◊◊

I also cleaned up my computer hard drive, and so I can no longer access many of my old digital photos, which are saved on a backup drive (at home) or on CD (at home). Why is this worth mentioning? Because last spring, I'd taken a number of photos of architect Jean Nouvel's arresting Institut du Monde Arabe (at right, imarabe.org) in Paris, a building I'd wanted to visit for years, and dragged C to when I realized we'd happened upon it. For that building and others, Nouvel has been awared the 2008 Pritzker Architecture Prize. I was a little surprised he hadn't already received it. One building of Nouvel's that I'd like to see is the phallic Torre Agbar building in Barcelona (below, Barcelona City Tourist Guide 2008) which didn't exist when C and I visited there many moons ago. (But I also imagine the people have seen so many black people at this point that they also don't stare--politely--in the subway either.)

For every honor there must be a critic, and so Witold Rybczynski registers his dissent at the bestowing of the prize on just one person--the architect--rather than the team of people and forces that bring buildings like the Arab World Institute into being. I take his point, though I view the Pritzker Prize as a recognition of artistic vision more than anything else. There are constellations of architects, patrons, engineers, construction workers, government and local stakeholders, and so on, that together end up throwing up hideous buildings every second (I know, they dot the landscapes of Jersey City and Chicago like impetigo), but it takes a truly extraordinary aesthetic sensibility, luck, determination, charm, guile, bravado, and nerves of tungsten to ensure that a building like the Arab World Institute will turn out as Nouvel envisioned it.

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From the poetry of large structures to the poetry of little books that are available by clicking on the links at left, Seismosis has received a wonderful review, as has our fellow press family member, Shin Yu Pai, whose Rozanova Prize-winning collection Sightings is a must-have.

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And finally, a poem, by a young Brazilian writer, Narlan Matos Texeira (b. 1975, at right, Jornal de Poesia) whom the outstanding poet Tyehimba Jess introduced me to several months ago. Narlan, a native of the interior Bahian city of Itaquara, is a graduate of the Federal University of Bahia and the University of New Mexico, and is now studying for a doctorate in the US and has spent time as a writer-in-residence at the University of Iowa's prestigious International Writer's Program. His collection No Acampamento das Sombras (In the Camp of Shadows) received the Xerox Prize of Brazilian Literature. Narlan writes in Portuguese, but also speaks fluent English, and, I believe, Slovenian.

This is his poem "Elegy to the New World," which he says he wrote several years ago, and which was translated while he was at the University of Iowa. According to Madame K's site, it also received an award from the University of Illinois.

ELEGIA AO NOVO MUNDO

Tu me perguntas meu amigo
Onde eu estive durante meu longo silêncio
Estive na açucena das canas e na amargura dos canaviais
onde as folhas tremiam de medo dos homens
Os canaviais me sussuraram em gritos horrendos
o sangue amargo que lhe adocicou a boca
As mãos ásperas que lhe enxugaram a face
O canavial que morria de fome antes de completer 27 anos de idade
Das vozes sem estrela que embalavam ao longe línguas estranhas
Ó canavial verde, de que cor é meu sangue vermelho ?
Meu sangue tem medo da morte do açoite da noite
Meu sangue tem medo de mim
Tu me perguntas meu amigo
Onde eu estive durante meu longo silêncio

       Eu estive nos navios negreiros mercantes

que mercaram meu destino até a América até agora

       beberam minhas lendas como se bebe um barril de rum podre
       mercaram cada estrela do céu e do mar infinito
       cada pássaro cada pluma de meu cocar
       e desenharam mapas com meu sangue
       e ergueram totens sobre minha tribo
       e atearam fogo nos campos sagrados do meu povo
       e suas lanças me repartiram as veias em continentes distantes

Tu me perguntas meu amigo
Onde eu estive durante meu longo silêncio

       Estive pelas escumas dos mares nunca d’antes
       Por onde vieram a pólvora a baioneta o espelho a tuberculose a siflis
       Por onde vieram a espada e o elmo
-           As nuvens jamais se esquecerão disso !

No atlântico negro
Nos tombadilhos de velhos navios piratas
Nos cababouços da crueldade humana
Nas prisões da Serra Leoa – que ainda doem em alguma dobra do meu corpo
Em Angola
Na Guiné-Bissau
No Senegal
No Benin

Estive no reino da Guatemala
E na provincia de Yucatán
E na provincia de Cartagena de las  Indias
E nos grandes reinos e grande provincia do Peru
E no novo reino de Granada
E nas ilhas de Cuba e Trinidad
E nos reino dos Aztecas
Onde espadas de brutalidade fenderam meu corpo nu
Onde os cães de caça dos barões das índias se alimentavam dos braços e das pernas de crianças indefesas

Tu me perguntas onde eu estive meu amigo
E somente agora posso quebrar meu silêncio:
Eu estive comigo.


ELEGY TO THE NEW WORLD

You ask me, my companion
Where had I been during my long silence

I was in the sweetness of the sugarcane and in the bitterness of the sugar cane   plantation
Where the leaves trembled of fear of mankind

The sugar cane plantation whispered in violent screaming
  The sweet blood that has sweetened its mouth
The stern hands that dried its physiognomy
The sugar cane plantation that died of malnourishment before the age of 30
The voices without stars that rocked it to the distance strange languages
Oh, green plantation! What color is the wine in my blood?
My blood is scared of death of the whipping of the night
My blood is scared of me

You ask me, my companion
Where had I been during my long silence

I was in the merchant ships
   That traded my destiny to the Americas
Drank the legends of my people just like a barrel of rotten rum
Traded every star in the sky and in the infinite sea
Each bird each feather in my cockade
And drew maps with my blood
And erected totems over my tribe
And set fire in the sacred fields of my people
And their lances split my veins into different continents

You ask me, my companion
Where had I been during my long silence

I was by the foam of the seas never sailed
From where gun powder bayonet mirror tuberculosis and syphilis came
From where the sword and the elm came
- The clouds will never forget that!

In the black Atlantic
In the calaboose of old pirate ships
In the calaboose of human degradation
In the prisons of Sierra Leona – which still ache somewhere in my body
In Angola
In Guinea Bissau
In Senegal
In Benin

I was in Guatemala
And in the Yucatan Province
And in the Cartagena de las Indias Province
And in the Great Kingdom and Great Province of Peru
And in the New Kingdom of Granada
And in the Islands of Trinidad
And in the Kingdom of the Aztecs
Where swords of gold and mud split my naked soul
Where the hunting dogs of the barons of the Indies were fed with arms and legs of native children

You ask me, my companion
Where had I been and only now I can break my silence:
I was with myself.

Copyright © Narlan Matos Teixeira, 2003, 2008.