Lola Haskins: “Years ago, I was driving home with my five-year-old son, and about halfway there (we lived 13 miles out of town), I saw a harvest moon, and said, Django, did you know that Caesar saw that moon? The week before, he’d figured out that conquerors were called that because they conked people on the head, and when I said, you’re right, but can you name a conqueror, he came up with Julius. After that, we duetted names all the way to the gate. The poem is a solo version of that night. And I am a very fortunate girl, not just because of the moon but because I have Django for a son.” (web)
“The Fruit Detective” by Lola HaskinsPosted by Rattle
Lola Haskins
THE FRUIT DETECTIVE
On the table, there are traces of orange blood. There is also a
straight mark, probably made by some kind of knife. The
detective suspects that by now the orange has been sectioned,
but there is always hope until you’re sure. He takes samples.
Valencia. This year’s crop. Dum-de-dum-dum.
The detective puts out an APB. Someone with a grudge
against fruit. Suspect is armed and should be considered
dangerous. He cruises the orchards. Nothing turns up except a
few bruised individuals, probably died of falls.
A week passes. There are front page pictures of the orange.
No one has seen it. They try putting up posters around town.
Still nothing. The detective’s phone rings. Yes, he says. And Yes,
thanks. I’ll be right over. Another orange. This time they find
the peel. It was brutally torn and tossed in a wastebasket.
Probably never knew what hit it, says the detective, looking
sadly at the remains.
There is a third killing and a fourth. People are keeping
their oranges indoors. There is fear about, that with oranges
off the streets the killer may turn to apples or bananas. The
detective needs a breakthrough. The phone rings. If you want
to know who killed the oranges, come to the phone booth at the
corner of 4th and Market, says the voice.
The detective hurries on his coat. When he gets to the
booth, the phone is already ringing. It is the egg. I did it, says
the egg, and I’ll do it again. The detective is not surprised. No
one else could have been so hard-boiled.
Lola Haskins: “As a kid I loved the way Jack Webb (whose hat I also loved) used to say ‘Just-the-facts-ma’am.’ I had a really good time writing this in that spirit. And I won’t regret eating the egg, not one bit; after all, he’s already hardboiled. I do, however, feel sorry for the oranges so I said a few kind words to the one I had for breakfast this morning. And, having suffered through my little ditty, I’m sure the reader will be relieved to know that my book coming out in June has nothing to do with fruit.” (web)
Lola Haskins: “Poems, other people’s, and when I get really lucky, mine, have connected me with sisters, brothers, and angels, more deeply than I have ever been connected by blood to anyone. Besides, the high of finally getting myself clear on the page’s field is so addictive I can’t imagine ever stopping trying. In other words, it doesn’t matter how frustrating it is when it doesn’t work because it’s so sublime when it does. All of you out there who write will know what I mean.” (web)
Lola Haskins: “Poems, other people’s, and when I get really lucky, mine, have connected me with sisters, brothers and angels, more deeply than I have ever been connected by blood to anyone. Besides, the high of finally getting myself clear on the page’s field is so addictive I can’t imagine ever stopping trying. In other words, it doesn’t matter how frustrating it is when it doesn’t work because it’s so sublime when it does. All of you out there who write will know what I mean.” (web)
Lola Haskins is the guest on episode #32 of the Rattlecast! Click here to tune in live or archived …
“Three Prominent People” by Lola HaskinsPosted by Rattle
Lola Haskins
THREE PROMINENT PEOPLE
1
A man from Chicago collected documents so he could tell you how old they were and how many he had. The man invited a professor of medieval history to dinner. “My collection is so interesting it deserves an exhibit,” he said, and the professor agreed. But before the exhibit could be mounted, the man’s oldest document emptied the man’s bank account, and moved to Buenos Aires, the capital of South America.
2
She put on a tight black dress and boots. She painted her lips Fatal Apple, and her eyebrows Midnight. After that, she practiced tossing her copper hair picturesquely over one shoulder. She knew if she spoke in a husky enough voice and paused long enough in strategic places, women would resent her and men desire her or vice versa, but in either case, no one would notice the poems.
3
He deserved to win. Not everyone can sing out of three holes at once, especially not in harmony, and especially not the Star Spangled Banner.
Lola Haskins: “When I was in sixth grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Robinson who let me memorize ‘The Highwayman’ by Alfred, Lord Noyes (at the time I thought ‘Lord’ was his middle name) for parents’ night. Everything I’ve written since has, I think, been for her.” (website)
Lola Haskins: “Poems for me work like flashlights in a cave; they’re a way to explore the dark without dying. Also, because other poets over the years have given me such beauty, to the point of changing my life, I’d like to give something back, if I can.” (website)
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