ORANGES IN LITERATURE

What better way to start this little blog than one of my favourite things in poetry - the presentation of love alongside oranges - whether that be romantic, sexual, platonic, familial, or even a love for simply existing, or perhaps for a time you can no longer return to or people who you no longer know. Regardless, there is always an intimacy that comes with sharing an orange with someone, a little way of saying “i love you” if you will. I think these poems speak to the idea that oranges are designed to be shared with others, already perfectly divided into segments, and there is even an art to eating an orange. Call me silly but there is a purposefulness and meaning in tearing through the peel of an orange, feeling the texture as you do, the laughter as a bit of juice sprays out, the citrus scent lingering on your fingers, even the gentle peeling of its fleshy strings, that which I’m not sure the actual name of, but what my friends and I refer to as the orange’s lingerie.

Anyway, there were too many to choose from but here are just a few I think about every now and again:

Amy Schmidt

ABUNDANCE

in memory of Mary Oliver

It’s impossible to be lonely

when you’re zesting an orange.

Scrape the soft rind once

and the whole room 

fills with fruit.

Look around: you have 

more than enough.

Always have. 

You just didn’t notice

until now.

I think ‘Abundance’ really captures the essence of what i was trying to say in all my previous waffle. Of course, some will not see it like that, think zesting an orange is simply zesting an orange, and that’s okay. I’ve started to learn that not everyone sees things in life in the way you do but there is a contentment in not trying to change that. But I will enjoy believing that these little things are what life is all about; how lucky I am to be able to see the bright orange colour and smell the strong sweetness in the air. It reminds me of the only time I’ve baked somewhat successfully, making some white chocolate and orange cookies, a recipe I first made with two of my closest friends. They weren’t in my kitchen with me that day but the memories of that day with them were.

‘The side effects of eating too many clementines’ ahhhh. WHAT A POEM. I can’t pin down exactly why I resonate with this poem so heavily but I think it’s partly in the tone and language which i find quite similar to how i speak or my inner monologue. It is appreciating simple in its language and this brings it down to a level anyone can understand, something I can always appreciate in poetry, but there is a weight to the poem in its symbolism and just the intentionality in every word. The poem is almost deceiving simple. I first read the opening as sweet and innocent, really capturing the almost infatuation that comes with being in love with someone, having the most random, mundane moments like seeing “a box of clementines in the kitchen” and thinking of them. Though the poem then goes on to explore loss and heartache, and then the meaning of “I love you again” becomes sadder, like the vicious cycle of trying to move on from someone but finding yourself loving them “again.” I found this initial reading almost reflective of a naivety when it comes to love and relationships, especially at the beginning amongst all the newfound excitement. So, I felt really impacted by how Di Cesare explores the lingering nature of love following a split or a loss of some kind. Sometimes you feel so strongly towards someone and that might not ever really go away, or it might, but then it could randomly hit you again when the most simple thing happens, such as seeing said box of clementines. Thus I find it very powerful in how this poet truly captures the experience of feeling things very deeply, perhaps too deeply, and as a result, ending up the one bearing the emotional burden when things end.

 Lastly, I want to quickly circle back to that idea of the repetitive cycle of moving on/getting over things. I hadn’t fully picked up on this until just reading it again but this is so clearly expressed in the latter half of the poem in how the speaker will “mock the break with more breaking” and “eat all the clementines again.” A few possible meanings that stand out to me here. I think there is a really interesting honesty or more so an awareness of the speaker in her decision to not even attempt to break out of this cycle, despite it bringing her pain, and this is kind of behaviour is perhaps more familiar than we might want to admit. As they say, missing someone is sometimes the closest you’ll get to having that person in your life again (I reluctantly admit that my source here is in fact a TikTok comment but that’s besides the point), so there is a sense of understanding between the speaker and the reader, at least for me, as by letting go, she is accepting that the addressee might not be coming back, so instead, it is easier to indulge in the sadness of missing them. It’s interesting to note the form in reference to this as there is a lot of regularity in the line length and the sentences each pouring over a few lines, which perhaps speaks to the repetitive behaviour of the speaker, whom will “eat all the clementines again” which could mean going back to a relationship perhaps that was doing more harm than good, simply because in the moment, eating the clementines is so pleasurable. Or instead, perhaps, not going back to that person, but remaining static in her process of getting over them. The last line is intresting however. It is considerably shorter and more direct, which usually I find in poetry is used to reflect a kind of breaking out of the repetitive cycle and hope for the speaker, but “I never stopped,” makes me wonder if that is implied or instead it’s more of a sad, quiet end to the poem, where is speaker is admitting this to the reader. 

Orange Smell

Why is it that the orange smell

Attaches itself to me when I peel

It lingers, just like your scent

In my heart and on my mind

As soon as I wash it, the smell of orange disappears

Sometimes I wish I could do the same with yours.

 

-Mozak Cervello

 

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—

The size of it made us all laugh.

I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—

They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,

As ordinary things often do

Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.

This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.

I did all the jobs on my list

And enjoyed them and had some time over.

I love you. I’m glad I exist.

— Wendy Cope 

^^ One of my favourites!! I always think of my best friend when I read it and the orange she’d bring to school everyday. I look forward to sharing many more orange segments with her. 

An Orange Sleeve

In the fifth month, 
When orange-trees 
Fill all the world with scent, 
I think of the sleeve 
Of a girl who loved me. 

From the Japanese of Nari-hira.

Edward Powys Mathers (as Translator) 

I chose to include this because it captures how this idea of love and oranges transcends language and cultural barriers, reminding us that we are all human and have the same senses and can have the same thoughts/feelings; nostalgia, I think, being one of the most universal yet personal of all.

A couple other favourites:

“Oranges” by Gary Soto

Oranges” by Gary Soto

The first time I walked

With a girl, I was twelve, Cold, and weighted down

With two oranges in my jacket.

5 December. Frost cracking Beneath my steps, my breath

Before me, then gone,

As I walked toward

Her house, the one whose

10 Porch light burned yellow Night and day, in any weather.

A dog barked at me, until She came out pulling

At her gloves, face bright

15 With rouge. I smiled, Touched her shoulder, and led

Her down the street, across A used car lot and a line Of newly planted trees,

20 Until we were breathing Before a drugstore. We

Entered, the tiny bell

Bringing a saleslady

Down a narrow aisle of goods.

25 I turned to the candies Tiered like bleachers,

And asked what she wanted - Light in her eyes, a smile Starting at the corners

30 Of her mouth. I fingered A nickel in my pocket,

And when she lifted a chocolate That cost a dime,

I didn’t say anything.

35 I took the nickel from

My pocket, then an orange,

And set them quietly on

The counter. When I looked up, The lady’s eyes met mine,

40 And held them, knowing Very well what it was all

About.

Outside,

A few cars hissing past,

Fog hanging like old

45 Coats between the trees.

I took my girl’s hand

In mine for two blocks, Then released it to let

Her unwrap the chocolate.

51 I peeled my orange

That was so bright against

The gray of December

That, from some distance, Someone might have thought

I was making a fire in my hands.

Nina LaCour, We Are Okay

“She peels an orange, separates it in perfect halves, and gives one of them to me. If I could wear it like a friendship bracelet, I would. Instead I swallow it section by section and tell myself it means even more this way. To chew and to swallow in silence here with her. To taste the same thing in the same moment.”

The Stolen Orange by Brian Patten

When I left I stole an orange

I kept it in my pocket

It felt like a warm planet

Everywhere I went smelt of oranges

Whenever I got into an awkward situation

I'd take out the orange and smell it

And immediately on even dead branches I saw

The lovely and fierce orange blossom

That smells so much of joy

When I went out I stole an orange

It was a safeguard against imagining

There was nothing bright or special in the world

- shireen shaikh