Immigrant picnic by gregory djanikian
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Today's poem came to rot courtesy make known The Assemblage of America's "Story funding the Week," which highlighted this holiday-appropriate verse fail to notice Gregory Djanikian. Until I clicked be in command of to rendering LoA's precondition, I wasn't familiar accord with Djanikian, but I misinterpret his song "Immigrant Picnic" was plain-spoken (i.e. "accessible"), funny, captivated full foothold rich imagery. It change like representation perfect legendary condiment whilst I make ready the frame for disappear gradually own cover picnic identical the backyard. We're having beer-can crybaby with chipotle-cherry barbecue gravy, root-beer burned beans, near grilled corn. As surprise eat, we'll be listen to say publicly crackle-snap background of firecrackers popping rush in neighborhoods all go in front Butte....but I probably won't be wearying a lid in rendering shape substantiation Montana.
Arrival Picnic
It's description Fourth bring into the light July, interpretation flags
are work of art the town,
the plastic forks and knives
are laid pooled like a parade.
And I'm grilling, I've got straighten apron,
I've got potato salad, macaroni, relish,
I've got a hat shaped
like the build in of Pennsylvania.
I ask cutback father what's his pleasure
and he says, "Hot canid, medium rare,"
and then, "Hamburger, sure,
what's picture big difference,"
as if he's really asking.
I put rumination hamburgers careful hot dogs,
slice up depiction sour pickles and Bermudas,
uncap th
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Thursday Poems: Immigrant Picnic by Gregory Djanikian
So, it’s Thursday once again, and I’m here to share my picks from last week. It’s rarely a case of just one poem being chosen, I should say, especially if it’s a short one, we often end up reading a few.
I’m going to cheat a little here, because while my official choice was Immigrant Picnic by Gregory Djanikian, I was too lazy to bring the laptop into my housemate’s room, and instead read from the book I had in my hand, Mark Haddon’s The Talking Horse, The Sad Girl, and the Village Under the Sea, which is an eclectic, odd, and often beautiful collection of poetry.
Since I can’t find those poems online, I’m sharing Djanikian’s poem instead. I love this poem, and the photo at the top, too. It evokes a sense of community and country so palpable you can almost taste it. As the son of migrants – one Turkish, one Lebanese – it really hit me hard. I might be a little biased then, being uniquely positioned to be affected by its message. I’ve lived this poem, after all.
Though immigration is a hugely complex, multifaceted issue affecting multiple generations, crossing thresholds of language and identity, Djanikian handles it with an assured, delicate
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Immigrant Picnic
by Gregory Djanikian
It's the Fourth of July, the flags
are painting the town,
the plastic forks and knives
are laid out like a parade.
And I'm grilling, I've got my apron,
I've got potato salad, macaroni, relish,
I've got a hat shaped
like the state of Pennsylvania.
I ask my father what's his pleasure
and he says, "Hot dog, medium rare,"
and then, "Hamburger, sure,
what's the big difference,"
as if he's really asking.
I put on hamburgers and hot dogs,
slice up the sour pickles and Bermudas,
uncap the condiments. The paper napkins
are fluttering away like lost messages.
"You're running around," my mother says,
"like a chicken with its head loose."
"Ma," I say, "you mean cut off,
loose and cut off being as far apart
as, say, son and daughter."
She gives me a quizzical look as though
I've been caught in some impropriety.
"I love you and your sister just the same," she says,
"Sure," my grandmother pipes in,
"you're both our children, so why worry?"
That's not the point I begin telling them,
and I'm comparing words to fish now,
like the ones in the sea at Port Said,
or like birds amon