strawberries :: by edwin morgan
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates
Poem © Edwin Morgan, Gnomes, Carcanet Press Limited, 1968 (found: here).
: :
When I came across Edwin Morgan’s poem back in August, it was at a time when I was thinking about someone at the end of their life. At any other time, I know I would have enjoyed the poem well enough. It’s such a vividly drawn scene – the blue plates, the strawberries dipped in sugar, the knees, the crossed forks – and simple. No fancy language. No tricksy metaphors. Also, it’s about food which generally endears me to a piece of writing/art. (When I was doing my PhD, I ran a literary magazine called Quotidian and it became a bit of a running joke between my co-editor and I that if the submission included mention of food, especially sandwiches, then I’d be more likely to consider publishing it. This is something I’ll write more about at some other point). But yes – while at any other moment in time, I may have read the poem ‘Strawberries’ and thought, ‘Oh how lovely’ and then moved on… what happened on this reading – sitting on top of my bed-sheets late one evening, trying to write a letter and not being sure how to phrase it – was that it absolutely floored me. I read it and then reread it, and when I got to the end of reading it a third time, I had to cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from sobbing.
Why? How to capture that idea burning on my heart in a way that doesn’t feel trite?
I guess what the poem made me think was: this is what matters. Things like this: a moment of shared strawberries on the back step. They matter. There is life and connection in them. And how easy it can be to not notice them. (Moments like: my Papa winking at me in his red jumper across the cafe yesterday, or my Gran pulling me in for a second hug - the softness of her coat against my cheek - before heading home, or sitting on the top step watching my Mum painting her toe-nails, or … or … ). When I am going about living my daily life, it’s so easy for small moments like this to fall off the conveyor belt of remembering and, my goodness, that worries me. I’ve been taking a class in mindfulness, and one of the things that came up in the class recently was that part of the reason this happens - because, thank goodness, it happens to everyone not just me - is because our brains all have a built-in ‘negativity bias’. In order for positive moments to really stick and become memories - form neural pathways - then we need to actively and intentionally choose to stay with them (psychologist Dr Rick Hanson suggests for at least 20 to 30 seconds). And it’s easy to forget to do that… or feel there’s not enough time.
I want to be awake enough to my life that I notice these things though – the strawberry moments: those moments of connection that are small, and yet contain the world in them. They are slight – and don’t shout as loudly as The Difficult Things. But they are there. And noticing them – really taking them in and leaning into them – isn’t a ‘nice’ or Pollyanna-ish thing to do, I don’t think. It’s vital.
I have a feeling that at the end of days, those strawberry-moments are the things I’ll look back on and wish that I could relive.