Tag: Memory

Centered within a wide white border is a black-and-white photograph of a devastated urban street framed tightly around an elderly man sitting on a wooden bench. He is bald and dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. His posture is slightly forward, with one hand resting on the bench and the other near the handle of a long cane that extends diagonally. Facing the camera, his expression is solemn and composed rather than overtly emotional. Immediately behind him stands a tracked construction vehicle, its heavy metal body filling much of the middle ground. The background consists of a ruined city street lined with bomb-damaged buildings. Rubble spills across sidewalks and into the roadway. On the right, the shell of a commercial building survives, the letters of its faded sign are difficult to decipher. Farther back, fragments of taller buildings and decorative towers punctuate the skyline, hinting at the neighborhood's former architectural richness. The overall effect is one of profound stillness: a solitary man quietly inhabiting a landscape of last days. (Public domain, from the author.)

“Last Days of Ambrogino” * Fiction * Peter J. Dellolio

aromatica poetica August 7, 2026

I was told that after the war a patrol of soldiers found me lying unconscious in an abandoned building in a town I could not remember. The soldiers brought me to a hospital where I was gradually revived and given medication for some wounds I had received. These were not gunshot wounds. When I awoke, I could not recall who I was or where I had come from. That is, I did not know if I belonged to this town, …

A grainy, high-contrast black-and-white photograph of an older man walking a large dog along a fog-shrouded path. The man stands slightly right of centre, wearing a long belted overcoat, a scarf, gloves, and a fedora-style hat. He holds the dog’s leash in his right hand; his posture is upright but relaxed. The dog walks to his left, head lowered slightly, appearing calm and attentive. A wooden split-rail fence runs along the left side of the path, receding into the background and partly obscured by mist. Bare tree branches arch overhead and dissolve into the fog, creating a soft, blurred canopy. The ground looks wet or muddy, with faint reflections and scattered leaves. The image edges show worn, scratched borders that give the photograph a vintage, weathered appearance. Overall mood is quiet, contemplative, and slightly melancholic. Created by ChatGPT, described by Be My AI, for Late Shift at the Museum of Smells.

“Late Shift at the Museum of Smells” * Fiction * Chris Cottom

aromatica poetica February 4, 2026

I’m working afternoons on our enquiries desk. ‘Old leather walking boots?’ asks a raincoated lady who reminds me of Gran. ‘Freshly buffed with beeswax dubbin?’ I’m gagging for a cup of tea. ‘Sorry, madam. The museum’s banned bee-based treatments.’ Across our cavernous hall, kids are staggering out of our ‘Monarch Immersion Experience’ clutching their heads. Our historic odours unit has recreated the execution of Charles I. It’s a blend of blue blood and horseshit that’s nasally indistinguishable from the real …

A whimsical fairytale scene of a small, green dragon perched on a tree branch. The dragon has a vibrant green body with scales that shimmer, and its underbelly is a bright golden yellow. It has two wings that are also green with golden highlights. The dragon's head is adorned with small, horn-like protrusions, and it has a friendly, curious expression. The tree it is resting on has a thick, textured trunk and branches with lush green needles. The background is a soft, mystical green, and there are small glowing orbs scattered throughout, resembling fireflies or magical lights, adding to the magical atmosphere of the scene.

“Koan” * A Fairytale Poem in English and German * Kerstin & Werner Schulz * Plus Audio

aromatica poetica January 22, 2025

Author’s note: My father, Werner Schulz, passed away last January after a long battle with cancer. He was a retired German professor who taught German language and literature as well as the occasional course on Folklore. He left me his collected creative works which are unpublished except his dissertation on Johannes Bobrowski, an East German early 20th century poet. Over the past year I’ve chosen to translate some of his “fairytale” pieces from German into English. Koan translated by …

Southern scent memory: Mint Julep at the Round Robin Bar 2018 made with raspberry and strawberry infusion and garnished with cherries and a mint stalk, of course, sits on a bar matt with sunlight striking it picturesquely and a blurred out bar in the background. Wikimedia.

Five Scent Poems by Joan Mazza

aromatica poetica June 8, 2022

The Scent of Memory 12 You might think of mint as gum flavoring or what makes Polident tolerable. Sometimes it’s a scent made for savoring— candy canes on Christmas trees, delectable in cookies. Boxes full of peppermints take you back to the deep South’s mint juleps in tall glasses on your honeymoon trip. You imagined yourself with servants, not slaves, a belle in hooped skirts, eloquent and beautiful, your loving so fervent you’d never worry about breath mint. How odd …

Drawing of the inside of an apothecary with people making and selling medicine , artist unknown late fourteenth or early fifteenth century, Flemish: an aprentice seems to be grinding something, there are two men talking business, there is a scale, and a man is purchasing a jar of something from a woman. the picture is on a gray background with the winged snake doctors symbol in each corner.

Olfactory Report 6: Scent as Medicine * Catherine Haley Epstein

aromatica poetica June 23, 2021

Medicine and perfumery have their roots in nature; both started as the alchemy of plants. Why medicine has progressed beyond tinctures and extractions to pills, surgery, and radiation, while aromatherapy and perfumery have not, remains a mystery. Even though people find relief with aromatherapy interventions, it is difficult to validate and measure consistently. That said, there is plenty of historical evidence attributing emotions and feelings to scent. Scents were referred to as “depressing”, “inspiring and reviving,” as far back as …

An osage orange (aclura pomifera) glowing and floating in black for a poem by John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper.

“The Fourth of October, T’en Souvient-il?” * Poetry * John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper

aromatica poetica October 4, 2020

Amazing the ruin, the stupor of the misbegotten, fervor of memory may assuage: held long indoors, long drying and forgotten, a pinch of spruce confuses — a scent of miracles — overwhelming — brings to mind the sweetly fragrance — tiny, tart and sticky — pungent orange fruit of the Osage tree. I can see it, that tiny orange, feel it in my hand, clinging to my fingers, still perceive the faint glow it cast in my kitchen where it …

Negative photograph of Lavender flowers, labeled “Lav 71."

“Lavender” * Poem * Sean Lynch

aromatica poetica July 30, 2020

Whenever I hear the word lavender the only lavender I think about is the lavender that I smelled when I saw my mother die and I felt her heart let go when she tasted death. —About Sean Lynch— Sean Lynch is a poet and editor who lives in South Philadelphia. His fourth chapbook, On Violence, was published by Radical Paper Press in 2019. Poems have appeared in various journals including Hobart, Poetry Quarterly, and Drunk Monkeys. He’s the Founding Editor …

A big country house with a garden wafting scents of pink flowers and green grass in through its windows, and laundry detergent, cinnamon toast, perfume, and dirty socks out. By Alabaster Rhumb for Kate Chamberlain on Aromatica Poetica.

“The Smells of Home” * Memoir * Kate Chamberlin

aromatica poetica May 28, 2020

I remember a beautiful old Victorian home in Wellsville that yowled “Cats!” even as you stepped onto the wide front porch. Here in Walworth, one of my friend’s home smells of candles and paint; another like the farm; and another actually has no smell at all. As I walk through my home, I can smell which room I’m passing – especially on a hot, humid day. You’ve heard of being led by the nose? Well, the nose knows. In the …

A portrait of Tsaritsa Alexandra Fyodorovna in a gold frame sticks out of a rusted green dumpster alongside a pizza box and trash bags outside sand-colored stucco apartment buildings.

“Dumpster Lives” * Fiction * Yash Seyedbagheri

aromatica poetica May 6, 2020

I like sorting through the dumpster behind my apartment every night. I inhale possibility and pungency, moldy cheddar cheese, dying pizzas. I examine discarded items with tenderness, even if I must crane my neck. There are boxes for flat screen TVs, crumpled cartons of Bud Light, blue and white arresting my eyes. Old newspapers. Styrofoam and crumpled cardboard. Discarded garbage cans. But there’s also a crumpled joint or two and a couple Michelina’s TV dinners with their soothing green boxes. …

A collage of visual poems by J.I. Kleinberg scattered in various transparencies. Each collage poem is constructed of torn fragments of text displayed on a soft green background.

Five Visual Poems of Scent by J.I. Kleinberg

aromatica poetica April 15, 2020

These visual poems by J.I. Kleinberg are from an ongoing series of collages (2000+) built from phrases created unintentionally through the accident of magazine page design. Each contiguous fragment of text (transcribed as a poetic line) is entirely removed from its original sense and syntax. The text is not altered (except for the occasional deletion of prefixes, suffixes, or punctuation) and includes no attributable phrases. The lines of each collage are, in most cases, sourced from different magazines. —About J.I. …