TRUE CHANTERELLES in Medicine for Minds & Hearts anthology

TRUE CHANTERELLES (2013) was (re)published in Medicine for Minds & Hearts, an anthology of mushroom poems from Fungi Press, 2023. It originally appeared in Fungi Magazine in 2020. I had sent the poem to Art Goodtimes soon after it was written, but it languished in email format, then we dusted it off for publication, and he asked me to go ahead and load it up with scientific terms, which I did, and then, eventually it was published, but it was a long birth! A decade later!

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True Chanterelles finally published

A shoutout to Art Goodtimes who shepherded this poem into print, he who encouraged me to go deeper into the realm of fungi, and load it up with scientific terms. Ok, so it was an exceptionally long midwifery, two years, but look who else is in this mycology issue, W. S. Merwin! I am honored indeed. And I am exceptionally glad a version of this poem found its way to the printed page. At last. It was also reprinted/published in Medicine for Minds and Hearts, Fungi Press, 2023.

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• TRUE CHANTERELLES

• Also published in Medicine for Minds and Hearts, Fungi Press, Sept. 2023
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TRUE CHANTERELLES

… finding a good patch of morel mushrooms…a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers… — Jim Harrison

After an unseasonable rain,
at the end of the road, I found 
a stand of blue chanterelles
in the detritus of a pine stump.
I mourned the loss of a childhood tree,
but admired the gift it gave back.
They were more amethyst than black,
like fluted horns, or flamenco dancers.
Careful not to bruise them, I cut them 
with a silver knife, jealously guarding
their dark secrets, reveling in their muskiness–
like their dark truffled cousins, but with less bite.
A friend was up from LA visiting for her birthday 
so I opened the last hoarded jar of mushrooms
preserved in sweet clarified butter. Flecked 
in butterfly pasta, they were divine sparks
inspired by the salt tang of the sea
with glistening mauve shallots sautéed
& deglazed with a splash of old Madeira.
As she droned on about her poetry career, 
she picked out the offending fungus,
lined them up on the lip of the plate
in battalions, my rare woodland crop.
Perhaps they weren't true chanterelles,
but perse-hued pig's ears.

10/30/2013

Take two
TRUE CHANTERELLES

… finding a good patch of morel mushrooms…
a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers…
                — Jim Harrison

After an unseasonable rain,
at the end of the road, I found
a stand of blue chanterelles
that most singular of species,
the Polyozellus multiplex,
in the detritus of a pine stump.
I mourned the loss of my childhood tree,
but admired the gift it gave back.
They were more amethyst than black,
like frosted horns, or flamenco dancers
than leathern earthfans. The hymenium,
a delicate lace edging the violet skirts.
Careful not to bruise their glaucous bloom,
I sliced them with a silver knife, jealously guarded
their dark secrets, reveled in their muskiness–
so like their dark-truffled cousins, but with less bite.
A friend from LA was visiting. For her birthday
I opened the last hoarded jar of mushrooms
preserved in sweet clarified butter. Flecked
in butterfly pasta, they were divine sparks
inspired by the salt tang of the sea,
punctuated with glistening mauve shallots, 
sautéed and deglazed with a splash of old Madeira
As she droned on about her poetry career,
she picked out the offending fungus,
lined them up on the lip of the plate
in battalions, my rare woodland crop
then scraped them into the compost heap.
The chardonnay glass beaded and wept.
Perhaps she thought they weren't true 
chanterelles, but Gomphus clavatus, 
perse-hued pig's ears, imposters 
posing in the pasta.

rev. 8/1/18
forthcoming in a mycology journal

• True Chanterelles finally published 2020
• Also published in Medicine for Minds and Hearts, Fungi Press, 2023
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