This is Poetry Moment on WPSU – a weekly program featuring the work of contemporary Pennsylvania poets. Your host is poet and author Marjorie Maddox, a 2023 Monson Arts Fellow, author of more than 20 books, and Professor Emerita of English and creative writing at the Lock Haven campus of Commonwealth University.
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Welcome to Poetry Moment.
This week’s Ash Wednesday begins the season of Lent. During poet Peter Krok’s Catholic upbringing, this meant “meatless Fridays.” As he explains, “[The]… choices [were potato pancakes,] vegetable soup, fish sticks with French fries, [or] a grilled cheese sandwich…. our favorite was always the potato pancake.” Called “blinis” by Eastern European families, the Krok family named these potato concoctions, “plinkies”—thus today’s poem, “Plinkies” by Peter Krok.
Peter Krok—known as “the red brick poet” due to his identification with row-house, red-brick Philadelphia—has been editor-in-chief of the Schuylkill Valley Journal since 2001. His poems have appeared in such places as Yearbook of American Poetry, America, Midwest Quarterly, andPoet Lore. In 2005, his poem “10 PM At a Philadelphia Recreation Center” appeared in Common Wealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania. His book Looking for an Eye was published in 2008; his book Wounded World appeared in 2020.
Earlier this year, after reading Peter Krok’s poem “Plinkies,” I decided to use our Thanksgiving leftover mash potatoes to make potato pancakes. Now and then during my childhood, my grandmother would whip these up and top them with sour cream or applesauce. They were delicious. Mine…were OK.
In the absence of help from my grandmother or today’s author, here’s “Plinkies” by Peter Krok.
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A sound with its own private room
in the home of my mind.
On the meatless day, Friday,
Mom made plinkies.
I peeled out the eyes and brown spots,
then grated the potatoes on the yellow
kitchen table. I scraped until there was
the smallest piece, about the size
of a half-used bar of hotel soap.
Often, I scraped my knuckles against
the grater and traces of blood would ooze
into the soupy batch. Yes, my blood would seep
into the bowl and I’d think a part of me is here.
Mom would mix two eggs and flour
in the batter to give the mixture body,
put Wesson oil in the pan,
heat the pan until it sizzled,
then pour the potato mix
into the pan. When she thought
the underside was rusty brown,
she’d turn the potato pancakes over,
then put them on a plate.
I’d sprinkle sugar when I was younger
and salt when I got older.
Yes, my blood is back there
in the kitchen of that red brick row house.
It keeps weeping into my words
until no one will remember.
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That was “Plinkies” by Peter Krok. Thanks for listening.
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Listen for Poetry Moment with Marjorie Maddox Mondays during Morning Edition and All Things Considered on WPSU. You can more episodes at wpsu.org/poetrymoment.
Our theme music is by Eric Ian Farmer.
