Wednesday
Every Christmas my brother David and his wife Belinda send us Harry and David pears, thereby ruining our pear consumption for the rest of the year. After all, as Helen Mitsios writes in this poem about that sublime fruit, “there was never a pear as perfect as you.”
I’ve read many poems about fruit. There is, of course, Christina Rossetti’s Goblin Market, probably the ultimate example. D. H. Lawrence’s aggressively erotic “Figs,” where he contends that “ripe figs won’t keep,” is his version of Robert Herrick’s “gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” Li-Young Lee explicitly compares eating a persimmon to a sexual encounter, and Mary Oliver goes into ecstasy over the “sensual inundation” of small wild plums. Mitsios, however, is the first poet I know who gives credit to the marketer.
Having done her homework, Mitsios identifies the Harry and David pears as “Royal Riviera.” One can feel the juice coursing down one’s chin in a line like “luscious and large, golden and blushed.” And then there’s the pun in a line that acts as a refrain: “no other pear compares to my love for you.” Here it is:
Ode to the Royal Riviera Pear
By Helen Mitsios
Royal Riviera Pear,
there’s no other pear
that compares to you.
Luscious and large,
golden and blushed,
like a cherub you arrive
on my doorstep in a box
with one pear wrapped in gold
foil. There was never a pear
as perfect as you.Treasured
pear first grown in France,
Royal Riviera Pear and cousin
of the French Comice pear,
revered since 1856, buttery
rare, served to royalty
and known as the fruit
of kings. Or maybe eaten
while on a bench, a picnic,
or just anywhere. Royal
Riviera Pears are delicious
without compare.Grown
in Southern Oregon since 1934,
picked at the perfect moment,
to arrive at the doorstep
as a gift or Christmas
tradition these 85-plus years.Perfect
box of pears, eaten by folks
both big and small. Juicy
and scooped with a spoon
or on a plate at noon.
Royal Riviera Pears, of splendor
to eat right away or on
a special day, a feast, a treat,
or for your sweet.Royal Riviera Pear, your shape
carved in gold for a throne,
or I could place you in a picnic
basket or on my mantle at home.A tradition of old, like
the partridge in a pear tree
or starting anew just for you.
You can eat a box yourself
or gaze at a pear on a shelf.
Royal Riviera, perfect pears
fit to be painted in a still life,
I admire you while sitting
on my kitchen chair.Legendary
pair, maybe Adam and Eve
ate a pear in the garden,
Homer’s pear, gift of pears to Greek goddesses.
Oh, Royal Riviera Pear, you are without compare.I would carry you in my pocket
if I could or wear you on a chain
as a locket, most celadon
and fragile butterfly-winged
of fruits. No matter how
or where, nothing compares
to you, Royal Riviera Pear.In sauces or butters, there
was never a pear as sweet
as you. Pear brandy not
as dandy without you,
baked pears, pears with nuts
and cheese, fruit of sweet
curves in pear bread,
baked or eaten iced or
raw. Oh, most perfect
Royal Riviera Pear, no other
pear compares to my love for you.
In the words of Rossetti’s goblins, “Come buy, come buy!”
