Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Haiku Mondays: PERFUME RESULTS
When I posted this week's haiku theme of perfume, I was expecting to get a bunch of mini 5-7-5 paens to, oh, I dunno, actual perfume. The first one you ever spritzed. Or sneaked off your mother's dressing table. Or purchased for a beloved. Or sneezed until your eyes bled.
What I got, however, were eleven-plus haikus covering a variety of scent-sual topics, from dead skunks to sand and sea to lunchroom snacks and sex. Lots of sex. Sex in the sea, on the sand, and even, in a couple instances at least, sex accompanied by snacks. (Although, thankfully, not dead skunks.)
Once again, judging was a daunting task.
Because I have a tight schedule and will be gone most of the day, I'm going to submit a truncated rundown of my reasoning for choosing a winner, but not without first giving each and every one of you a pat on the back for a job well done:
Submitted his first-ever haiku, a kiss-the-girls-and-make-them sigh ode to fun and frolic with Fishy, which had her looking for the shotgun and the rest of us going, "Ah, hah. That explains why they've been married all these years." Seriously, Fishy. You go around wafting two of the world's great va-va-voom scents, Chanel No. 22 and Joy; what do you expect? It was also a dang good haiku, both in its technique and in its ability to, um, evoke.
Once, Boxer didn't think she could write haiku. Now, she consistently produces some of the most beautiful odes to her native PNW that vividly bring to life the mis-en-scene of her existence. This one paid tribute to elements that perfume her daily life: namely, sand and sea. Lovely.
What happens when women leave their men alone for a day or two? Most of us don't really want to entertain the notion, but in Buzz's case it means he gets to mess around in the kitchen making things he doesn't normally get to eat. And then write a haiku to celebrate. About making chile. And if you don't think that's a neat trick, go back and read it. We know Buzz can cook. He can also write in such as way as to make you wish you had a big bowl of chile right now.
Speaking of mouth-watering. Chickory hit us with two haikus of tremendous skill and nostalgic force: One, the way-back-when-before-we-knew-suntanning-caused-skin-cancer-and-ruined-all-our-fun memory of the smell of teenaged Coppertone-ed slathered bodies on the beach; the other of what was probably the only good smell to ever come out of a schoolroom kitchens—the wafting of baking yeast rolls. She submitted the latter, which actually started my mouth watering when I read it.
When not busy fighting off Blowfish, Fishy is one of our most talented—and prolific—haiku-ers, producing no less than a good half dozen exceptional haikus each and every contest. Fishy waited until the last minute to choose her elegant ode to one of the most famous perfume bottles ever designed. Architectural, indeed. Thanks to Fishy, I just know all y'all are going to rush out and buy yourselves a bottle of Joy. Do it. Now.
Simply put: Foam writes great haiku. This one, an ode to dead skunk in the middle of the road, is not only subtly, skillfully alliterative to the point where you don't see a single seam showing unless you look for it, it also punches you in the nose with an actual smell. Which as we all know, is one hell of a poisonous waft of eye-watering proportions. Unless you use it to make a perfume. In which case, you get Patou's Joy.
I love this short but sweet ode to springtime—and a reminder that some of the best-smelling perfumes are produced by Mother Nature. Reading it, I was instantly reminded of my favorite past time in spring: Driving through Albuquerque's neighborhoods to catch a whiff of the intermingling of lilac, Spanish broom, and newly watered grass.
One of a handful of haikus that dealt directly with bottled perfumes, Kym declares her love of the two perfumes that contribute to her magnetism. And all along, we thought it was just her cooking . . .
Milk River Madman:
Ooooo, clever, clever man writes a clever, clever haiku, in which he wistfully wonders what perfume Ann Coulter douses herself with. Chanel No. 5 or something containing jasmine? Which made me laugh out loud because jasmine, usually such a naughty little hot house flower, is boiled down to a cool, aloof abstract in No. 5, which in the end seems to me exactly what Ms. Coulter's body chemistry would do to that particular flower. Yes. Ann Coulter wears Chanel No. 5. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Like her daughter, Pam also specifically mentioned a series of perfumes in a snappy little double entendre-ed piece singing the praises of certain men's scents (there's that sexy thing again; go figure). All of which 'fumes work for her and also work for her. Clever and funny! Which makes me wonder what would happen if she and Milk River collaborated on a haiku together. Look out!
Came in with one of the more mysterious haikus of the challenge, a reach back into his memory banks to describe what I think is a boyhood encounter with his Swedish nanny, a gal whose talent for making cinnamon buns somehow got co-mingled with goodness-knows-what-else (la, la, la, la, la). Yes, he nicked the title of my baking blog, but Troll knows how stick his tongue in his cheek before he embarks on walking the tightrope between flattery and suck-up-edness. In the end, he created one hell of a haiku, one that edged Boxer, Foam, Chickory, and Blowfish out by a hair and everyone else by a hair and a half.
Seriously, he had me at cinnamon and that marvelously mysterious last line that had me walking around all day going, "What are they? What, what, WHAT?!?"
13 scented sins.
Congrats, Troll. Let me know where I can send your prizes.