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Poet Annette Wong plays with the story of the ant and the grasshopper in response to the theme of "Fools" from Proverbs 13:18-20.

Proverbs 13:18-20

Entomology (the ant and the grasshopper)

By 

Annette Wong

Credits: 

Curated by: 

Emily Ruth Hazel

2013

Poetry

Image by Giorgio Trovato

Primary Scripture

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As I was thinking about Proverbs 13:18-20 I was reminded of fables my mother read to me when I was young. Fables, like Proverbs, teach and correct. One of the most fabled fools in my memory of Aesop's tales is the idle grasshopper, who fails to prepare for winter. Despite the urging of his friend, the ant, the grasshopper piddles his summer away. His days are sweet, filled with song and dance but when winter comes, he's left to freeze on his rickety hind legs with nothing to eat. Some of the hardest words to stomach are "I told you so." A fool is someone who needs telling so. Or is told so but chooses not to listen.




Spark Notes

The Artist's Reflection

Annette Wong is a 2008 Poetry VONA-ite under the tutelage of Suheir Hammad. She was born in Los Angeles and grew up in Beijing and Hong Kong. She received her B.A. in History and International Studies from Yale University, where she was a member of Jook Songs, Yale’s Asian American Writing and Performance Group. In 2007-08 Annette was a part of New Life Fellowship Church’s Writers’ Group where she had the good fortune of meeting Emily Ruth Hazel. She currently resides in Los Angeles, where she practices civil rights law.



Annette Wong

About the Artist

Annette Wong

Other Works By 

Related Information
Image by Aaron Burden

Fall: there was time, still, after
a summer squandered in song.

View Full Written Work

Entomology (the ant and the grasshopper)

by Annette Wong


Fall: there was time, still, after

a summer squandered in song.

The scythes still whistled

the fruit still hung-so he danced

after the cicadas had gone.


And as she had, all summer long

tried to warn (he paid no heed)

with jaws clenched, mined

what she could, what she had

What more could she do?


We know how the story goes: winter.

A first frost. A rattling wind.

No grass, no song, no swarm (one

is the loneliest locust).


Hobbling now, at her nest's foot

His feeble shrill. Silence. And then-

an antennae's twitch (her knowing

look) that all familiar

refrain: "Don't say

I didn't tell you so."




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Image by Aaron Burden

Fall: there was time, still, after
a summer squandered in song.

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