According to The Met, this is one of many fans painted by Pissarro, intended for a special fan room at an 1879 Impressionist exhibition (more in source link below). I love that Pissarro chose to dignify the work of the peasant women in the fields, and not just by his study, but by the medium – silk.
This poem is another in my ekphrastic series. More on the curtal sonnet form here.
The Cabbage Gatherers
Boiled, or fermented, or fried, even raw.
Women imagine the meals they will cook
As they pick the cabbages in the field.
They think of the nutrition they will store,
In jars, for winter in pantry nooks,
Sterilised and hermetically sealed;
Imagine their families’ silken smiles
Seated at table, the thankful, sweet looks;
Knowing their hard drudge as they bent and kneeled
And sweated, picking cabbages for miles –
Toil yields.
©elsp 2025
fried cabbage is so, so, underrated! lovely poem!
Hey, the poet of cuisine! Thank you so much for your nice comment!