Onion Song - a poem from Oedipus Interruptus, the Jazz Cook

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Onion Song

My mother spoke her love, but not without contradiction

For she was a writer, surrounded by her own fiction

When I was a nipper, imprisoned in my local school

One fine spring day, I was made to appear a fool

It was the time of the daffodil competition

In which I had the hopeful and tender ambition

To have a tall strong yellow flower, to be the best

But my shoot was very tiny, when compared with all the rest

The judges nicely do not laugh, instead they bite their lip

They say "that is an onion bulb, we recognise the tip"

My mother lives in many worlds, and all inside her head

She lost my daffodil, and planted onion in its stead

I left my manhood in the earth, it is such a shame

My shoot is dwarf and shrivelled, my mother is to blame

I have discovered since, my Ma is not so silly

For like the daffodil, the onion is a lily

Asparagus and garlic, and also the shallot

Are also family members, and this explains a lot

Narcissus, the daffodil, stared much into a lake

Obsessed with his appearance, and this was a mistake

For men do not need mirrors, they must find themselves in action

When my mother killed my daffodil, this was a benefaction

For when I found the onion, I also found the route

To be a man, shape the world, however small my shoot

Now I have my restaurant, with its four Michelin stars

My mother has a chateau, and I have thirteen cars

"Don't remain a child", my therapist gave me warning

Now I love onions, and I chop them every morning

All because a little bulb my mother once mistook

I'm Oedipus Interruptus, they call me the Jazz Cook!

© Nick Weldon February 2010

Posted via email from nick weldon's posterous