Blackberry Eating

“Blackberry Eating” is a short lyric poem organized into an unrhymed Petrarchan sonnet. There is a light turn after the eighth line of the poem, so the poem can be divided into two sections within the one-stanza structure.

The first section of the poem focuses primarily on the physical act of picking blackberries, which is something the speaker greatly enjoys: “I love to go out in late September” (Line 1). This confession follows a slight twist on the traditional use of sonnets as love poems. In this case, the speaker loves the way that the berries taste in early autumn: “fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries” (Line 2) after they have grown all summer and become full, slightly mushy, and ripened to the proper color to eat. Because he goes out in the morning, the berries are also chilled by the autumn air. He goes out with one purpose: “to eat blackberries for breakfast” (Line 3). The speaker does not gather the blackberries to bring back and serve with other food; instead, he forages only what he can eat directly from the plant. This image shows a care for the wild blackberry plants, for his neighbors who may want to share the berries, and for the non-human animals that rely on the berries for sustenance.

If fact, the blackberry stalks have agency to test whoever wants to eat: their thorns are a “prickly penalty” (Line 4) presented to the speaker as he tries to take the fruit. These plants are selective, and each person or animal must work to get past the prickling brambles to earn the sweet taste of the berries. According to the speaker, the plant has earned these defensive thorns on each stalk: “for knowing the black art / of blackberry-making” (Lines 5-6). The use of “black art” here is a humorous play on the blackberry plant’s natural process of growing and fruiting, which may seem mysterious to the speaker but is innate to the plant. It is also a subversion of the self-serving connotation of “black magic,” since the plants naturally evolved the thorns to defend themselves rather than conjuring them instantly. It takes years for a blackberry bramble to grow thick, thorny, and produce the largest berries.

The sixth line has the major enjambment in the poem, since the poem is one long sentence: “of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them” (Lines 5-6). The semicolon works as a barrier between the blackberry plant and the speaker, protecting him. The speaker is both a part of the plants by standing among them, and separate from them, as a human in the natural world. Because the speaker has gone blackberry-picking many times before and knows how to best harvest the berries, he finds the job easy: “lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries fall almost unbidden to my tongue” (Lines 7-8). Unripe blackberries are more difficult to pluck from the stalk, and an inexperienced forager may get stung by the briars. This speaker waits until just the right time to collect the berries and expertly picks them right off the stalk with his tongue.

After the eighth line, the poem turns from a direct description of blackberry-picking into a metaphor about language and poetry itself. Poetry requires practice with a chosen language to become an expert. Even the most talented writer may stumble over their own words first when reading them aloud.

The speaker compares the way the blackberries fall “almost unbidden” (Line 8) to his tongue to how the “words sometimes do” (Line 9) for his poems. Of course, there are qualifiers here: The words and the berries are “almost” (Line 8) unbidden but still may take some coaxing; words only “sometimes” (Line 9) come easily to his mouth.

The words that come easily are “certain peculiar words / like strengths or squinched” (Lines 9-10), or specific words that are opposites of each other and that fit the contradictions of how nature dispenses its fruits: Strength means tough or solid, like the briar patch, while squinch means to make smaller, more compact, as one does when chewing berries. These words and the fruit represent the “many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps” in Line 11. However, both words comprise many letters rolled into one syllable: like the composition of blackberry fruit.

Altogether, the speaker rolls the words and the blackberries on his tongue, “which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well” (Line 12). First, he tests the strength of both with his teeth and mouth, then breaks them down into something more digestible and indulges himself in the satisfying flavor. He does this “in the silent, startled, icy, black language / of blackberry-eating in late September” (Lines 13-14), which conjures a whispering devotion like those of prayers or casting a spell. The speaker disturbs the stillness with his hushed words and startles himself and the local wildlife. The cold berries chill his tongue and turn it black with juice. These images all converge on the speaker and become the poem’s words. He then conveys these words through this “black language” (Line 13), which he reserves for his intimate blackberry forage and shares gently with the reader.