Saturday, August 27, 2011

Poems of Fruit, and Vegetables, and Bread

As Summer slowly, oh so slowly, loosens its grip on the season and gives itself to Autumn, I've been reading poetry.  Beyond Love, and War, poets write about Food.  Turning only to a few books that move around my living room, rather than searching the digitized texts that exist online, I offer a few food poems for your enjoyment.

In a nod to Meg's most recent post about banana bread, I offer a poem by Marco Altamirano.  I found this book of poems at the Maple Street Bookshop while visiting New Orleans.

Soggy Bananas
this poem is about soggy bananas. 
but this poem is about other things too
although the bananas are soggy
mush in bags

soggy banana, you tube of gooey life,
here is my boyish squeeze
watch you bleed. 

This next poem, by Robert Louis Stevenson, is also the name of a contemporary dessert of white bread, margarine, and sprinkles.   When bacon finds its way to my house, then so will this cavity inducing dessert.  But, it sure is pretty!

Fairy Bread
Come up here, O dusty feet!
Here is fairy bread to eat.
Here in my retiring room,
Children, you may dine
On the golden smell of broom
And the shade of pine;
And when you have eaten well,
Fairy stories hear and tell.

 Sometimes food isn't in the title of the poem, but it's imperative in its embedding, as in Lisa Chen's poem below:

Outside Luna, a coloratura of unnamed birds warbles, perforating the sky, blue sulk-drop dissolving in the mouth.  Ahead of us, dust rises from a landslide.  We stall in a line of vehicles.  The proprietor of the soda stand leans over the counter, working something between his teeth.  He watches his girls approach us, their baskets of Chiclets and peanuts balanced against their hips.  How they sway, indifferent yet curious, fingering the pull-string change purses around their necks.  In the green skins of their limes, each girl had carved the initials of her own true love, R for Rodrigo, J for Juarez. 
The first verse of Fruits & Vegetables, the title poem of Erica Jong's first book of poetry, goes as such:

Goodbye, he waved, entering the apple.
That red siren, 
whose white flesh turns brown
with prolonged exposure to the air,
opened her perfect cheeks to receive him.
She took him in.
The garden revolved
in her glossy patinas of skin.
And lastly, what post of poetry would be complete without Richard Brautigan?

Cooks Together
Pauline and Al together cooked an early dinner that we had late in the afternoon.  It was very hot outside, so they prepared something light.  They made a potato salad that somehow ended up having a lot of carrots in it.
Poets adore carrots! 

Do you have a favorite food poem?

~ Trilety

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