Parsnip Poetry

I tape the Market Report at the Wednesday Santa Monica Farmers Market. This week I ran into David Karp, a pomologist and the LA Times “Market Watch” columnist. He’s usually at the market, talking to farmers and taking pictures. He heard Laura Avery and I talking to Amelia Saltsman and Alex Weiser about parsnips (see the Market Report). When I got back to work, this poem was in my inbox:

Dream Song 9 by John Berryman

Deprived of his enemy, shrugged to a standstill

horrible Henry, foaming. Fan their way

toward him who will

in the high wood: the officers, their rest,

with p. a. echoing: his girl comes, say,

conned in to test

he dreams the folks are buying parsnips & suds

and paying rent to foes. He slipt & fell.

It’s golden here in the snow.

A mild crack: a far rifle. Bogart’s duds

truck back to Wardrobe. Fancy the brain from hell

held out so long. Let go.

Thanks, David!