[Trevor Conway]

The act of mixing
at some point becomes one of turning
a galactic swirl of wet dough.
She eyes the flour and, needing more,
scatters pinches in precise places,
presses her fists into dry curves –
a brief record of each effort,
turned and folded to extinction.

She shoves the tray into the oven
and settles on a chair
to sip tea and observe its increase.

She has no knowledge
to explain this transformation,
believes herself dumb to its science,
and yet, she thinks of how flour is ground
by cog and wind, has some grasp
of fiery engines and rolling wheels
that carry flour to spacious shelves.

Isn’t that a class of science too?

The scent throughout her home
has always struck her as a kind of cousin
to the smell of plants relieved by rain.
And when the bread cools, she cuts through crust
and spreads a wave of butter
that soon melts to an oily swamp.

Sitting with her second cup,
she thinks of how, in a sense,
the science of ship-builders brought her tea,
the physics of wood,
the absent friction afforded by sea.

She closes her eyes and sits back.
All that, she notes, is academic
when you take a moment
to savour the taste.

[Harry Nicolas]

Hey Trevor, here are my thoughts
the title of Baker, and science immediately puts food, creating, patience, recipe's, experience into my head

"She eyes the flour and, needing more,
scatters pinches in precise places,"

I think these two lines going along with the title of science. Science is very methodical and requires reproducibility, but with baking if you have enough experience your own science becomes something that you don't even need to exactly measure out, you can just "eye" measurements, and that's your own personal science.

I like the imagery of galactic swirl - I think of the milky way
shoves the tray - forceful, contrast between calmness of sipping tea and observing.
She eyes the flour and, needing more,
scatters pinches in precise places,"

"She has no knowledge
to explain this transformation,"

difference between maybe practical knowledge from experience vs if you went to culinary school and were trained formally - or just looked up a recipe. I feel like there is more exploration and individual expression with this method since the individual baker with their own tastes and experiences are judging,not what someone else told them.

I like the contrast between formal exact science of how the world works, how humans have been able to create things to complete daily tasks, and the inexact science of going off of feel and trial and error.

[Trevor Conway]

Hi Harry,

Thanks for your feedback. I initially got the impression the two forms of "science" didn't match up for you, but your final summation made it clear that the interplay worked okay. I quite like that it wasn't/didn't seem to be a straightforward process for you, that you had to engage with the poem and work out how you felt about it (if I'm reading your experience with it correctly). I think poetry often works best on that level of not quite being sure about something, re-reading, potentially changing perception, at least to some degree.

Thanks again, Harry. Much appreciated.

Trev

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Trev—

My mother used to say, “Cooking is an art; baking is a science.” She was an excellent cook, but did not enjoy all the measuring, weighing, and precise timing that baking requires.

Your poem is a tribute to the simple pleasures, but it is light on imagery and heavy on explanation. If you focus on the imaginative images and trim the information that you can take for granted that the reader knows about the baking process, you might improve your poem.

My favorite lines are where you compare the swirl of dough to a galaxy, the handprints of the baker in the dough to fossil footprints, and the wave of butter that becomes an oily swamp.

My least favorite are stazas 2, 4, and 6 which are more expository than poetic.

Hope this is helpful.

Glenn

[Trevor Conway]

Hi Glenn,

That is very helpful, indeed. Thanks very much for the feedback. I'll take it on board.

Trev