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storied face
shmata chic
hilarious taste
tangles her English
with yiddishe schtick
quizzically eyes all
modern kitsch

a boasting pride for
her matzah brei
thinks she deserves
a nobel prize
she's being sarcatic
of course she won't win
it taste as bland as
the box it came in

drinks her sherry
in the evening at nine
(we all know it's
Mogen David wine)
as she plays the role
each night before bed of a
Park avenue sophisticate, with
a babuska on her head

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
don't really know where this came from. I had a bubbe (grandmother) and grandfather in New York City who spoke yiddish at home, but I hardly knew them. This poem just popped out of the blue
Editing stage: 


Great colorful poem.
One suggestion, you might want to consider
moving babushka to her shoulders, it is more common and sounds better.


thank you

not sure what you mean about the babuska on her shoulders sounding better
there is a rhyme scheme here and I feel a little locked in
this is why I don't like rhyming...if a word doesn't work ...the whole stanza gets thrown wacky

If you care to clarify, it would help me out


author comment

Hi Al,
It is great poem as is so do not change anything. I know what you mean about the rhyming scheam and the flow.
But babushka on her head sounds to me as hat on the head, axcessive and as if you want it for the bed-head rhyme.
Plus if I were your grandma, I would probably have the babushka around my shoulders.

The way I see the last stanza,

drinks her sherry
every evening at nine
(we all know it's
Mogen David wine)
as she plays a role
of Park avenue sophisticate,
with a babuska on her shoulders

I think I destroyed your flow.
Never mind me.

I forgot to mention that I really like
that the lines in the first and the last stanza rhyme.


My grandmother, if alive, would be about 135 years old now.
your contemporary sense of style would certainly be different than hers
Specifying seems necessary if a babuska can be worn on the shoulders, or the head
but I know what you mean about it sounding like a 'forced rhyme" from your point of view.

that's it for now,


author comment

of course,being in the tribe and having grandparents who got here in their youth in 1905 and stayed in NY I get every subtlety of your poem. Mine never made it out of Brooklyn, living with most in conditions barely above squalor. I would love to know how yours made it to Park Ave!
(note typo of "sarcastic")
I think the poem succeeds on the descriptive level but needs a bit more outside that. The poem introduces bubbe and we know her a little like the one in "Crossing Delancey" I'm looking for more about her, more personal details about her life- this park avenue lady with a babushka.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

just to let you know I have read your comments and when I have the time, will respond more in depth than I can now



author comment
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