Displeasures of the Table

by Martha Ronk

A delightfully comic and serious trip through food by a woman who finds eating it not

Genres: Poetry

82 pages, Paperback

First published July 1, 2000

Reviews

[Angela · Rating 1 out of 5]

Though this was at times a beautifully written collection of poetic reflections that had its moments, Ronk's tone really left me wanting. Yes, I know the title of the book is "Displeasures of the Table," so I should have expected her sour distate with food, but I found myself turned off with the author herself and frequently irritated with her broad declaration that food is boring and people who like food are strange and irritating. I find her strange and irritating. It seems she'd be an unpleasant person to be around, far too "New York" for me.

I know we're not supposed to let our opinion of the author color our view of her work, but I couldn't help just plain disliking her and, therefore, her work. This was a trouble and a pain to finish and it somewhat ruined my evening. Yet as always I felt compelled to finish it. I wouldn't rank it as a book I hate because it was at times very lovely, but I would create a new rank: Books that irritate me.

Although: Afterward in a fit of pique and complaint I mentioned to my mom that Ronk desperately wished someone could lump all three meals into one pill. As someone who finds food a pleasure, those who dislike food seem awfully uptight and Puritan to my tastes. However, my mom, a lifetime dieter and food lover, instantly identified with that "three-in-one" pill idea. So maybe I speak as a glutton while Ronk speaks as a dieter. Different perceptions I care not to explore, I suppose.

[Patricia Murphy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Sorry to be stingy with stars today. I did like it, but I agree with the other reviewer who said she was "irritated with [Ronk's] broad declaration that food is boring and people who like food are strange and irritating." I love food so much I proposed, designed, and teach a Food Writing class at ASU. And while I don't believe the soul purpose of food writing is exaltation, I would argue that here we would benefit from more balance.

My other complaint is that sections read as "I-writing." Like here: "As a college student I was to make a dinner for a college minister. Even now I am embarrassed by the fact that, although I remember clearly that we were poor, I made a glutinous creamed tunafish on toast which several other students and I ate with him on the lawn in front of Sterling Chapel in New Haven."

I always ask my students to ctrl-F for "I": not because I don't want them to use first person, but because sometimes it's better to describe from without instead of from within. Structures can also become repetitive, and at its worst, I-Writing is narcissistic. I found a few sentences in this book that made me feel like the topic was more of interest to the writer than the reader.

I will say in praise of the book that several images resonated for me, and several lines made me think. I filled a page in my writer's notebook that were generated from reading this collection.

[Regina · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lemons 1

I would like to make poems out of real objects. The lemon to be a lemon the reader could cut or squeeze or taste. . . Things do not connect; they correspond. That is what makes it possible for a poet to translate real objects, to bring them across language as easily as he can bring them across time.

- Jack Spicer


There’s no such thing as a real lemon. If you punch holes in several with an ice pick you can stick them in the cavity of a chicken and tie its legs together and flavor the whole which also if you are lucky puffs up as you carry it to the table, but deflates immediately as you remove it from the oven. Nevertheless, it’s a good show. Obviously also salt and pepper. There may, however, be a correspondence. This is tricky, especially for those of us from Ohio who have allegorical temperaments. The lemon is as much like Ophelia as anything else (her opening letter) as the opposite or boys in blue bathing suits which Spicer liked quite well. Images have been under attack since the Puritans labeled them seductive; lop off the nose they said, rip the canvas. My lemon sits in wedges, her skirts are yellow as all get out, and her correspondence always begins, dearest love, how are you?

Martha Ronk, from Displeasures