What are the 3 visages of a poet?

Farmer
Builder
Cook

Sit down (please) in the room the builder built. Eat the food the farmer planted & harvested. Then, the cook improvises. What outcome?




The fork/spoon poised satisfies hunger. Which food appoints? What music goes with...

Does a poem write itself?

This blog did. Sipping Good Earth tea. Teabag says, “ You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket.” -- John Adams 1735-1826.

Found poem. Found friend.



Found food? Leftovers (usually in the plural). Sauté cooked rice, garlic, cherry tomatoes, several thimbles of white wine, chopped spinach, of course, pepper. Add to something that has been leftover. What is the connection with editing? Outtakes & fragments.

Does a poet write until a poem is perfect?

What’s perfect?

One definition says, “It is finished.”

No answers; just the work.



Babette’s Feast in a flurry of perfect, finished off many gourmands.

I prefer simple:

Ocean Beach
white wine
bread w/cheeses
@ perfect temperature
lunch meat/Prosciutto
one addition
(not on the food menu)
makes perfect

Is personal experience mulch for a poem?

The past is always present. Mind churns it over.

The body, never far from hunger.



Breakfast is dawn arriving on a plate. Nutty cheese, sliced apple and bread. Dab of rough-cut marmalade. Small notebook/pen. Dream, fodder for…

How many poems can be forged from a finite number of words?

Some questions are riddles. Forged from no-matter.



So, what’s for dinner? Now there’s a question worthy of poetry, invitation, necessity. Limited to the contents of the larder. Like poetry, a matter for play, for interpretation.

Why is a familiar word suddenly unfamiliar?

Why does a turn of phrase turn alien?

Of course, for some, poetry might as well be extraterrestrial.



Which foods are weird, otherworldly?

artichokes
escargot
durian

To question is not to doubt a poem, right?

A poem never doubts itself, saves that for the poet.
Thus, a seesaw: poet & cook/poem & ingredients.



Put aside cultural difference/skeptical mouth. Pizza is without a doubt, unquestionable.

What is the pure Spring poem?

Bucolic? 27 shades of wet-green? Not necessarily. Spring is jumble. Hands-down, subterranean revolution. Eruption & feast for eye/nose. Totally, messy.


Equivalent in food? Lots of dishes/cutting surfaces. Field greens, tangy goat cheese, roasted beets, roasted almonds, cherry tomatoes, nasturtium. Fresh herbs of the snipper’s choice.


Snipping a poem comes...

Which way does the question fall?

Wind blows. Seed taps into happenstance. Thus, a question is both root & leaf. Like a poem. Direction of the leaning evident by circumstance. By perspective.



Which food is evidence of renewal? Bulb & seed. I’m partial to fennel. Try this: roasted fennel, shallots, tomatoes. Go wild, add marinated figs dressed w/olive oil & (you guessed it) fennel seed. Which is to say, double fennel.

When a particular word saturates a poet's work, is this iconographic shorthand?

A word stands for. For example “crow” or “cypress.” To what means? To which end? The personal expressed in image/metaphor. Is the reader brought close or held at arm’s length?



With food, this may be construed as the cook’s “signature dish.” Signature style? Consistency and matter of taste.

What inspires the question in a poem?

From the get go, assume every poem imbeds a question.
From which limb, which organ of the poet did the question spring?
A question (explicit or implicit) is sufficient. The answer is the umbrella you misplaced.


Which foods feed question-making? A split dish with a friend. Two glasses. Wine.

When is the poem finished?

When the poet says, “Enough.” She forgot to say, “For now.”

Sublime, the fragment with a look/feel of the unfinished, it sounds exquisitely complete.



When is a meal incomplete?

When food is not tasted. Is not savored.

Is craft best expressed through the two-headed poet?

The skilled poet meticulously guides the reader to think/to feel what the poet intends.

At another time the same poet pushes the reader off a precipice.


Crafting fall & flight, ground comes to no conclusion.



Are there two-headed foods? Creme brulee, comes to mind, with its crust and custard.

How do you select the next book of poetry to read?

How do you decide what’s for dinner?

taste
proximity
invitation

Does a great line of poetry turn your body into a tuning fork?

By the way, what is a great line of poetry? Is this (like so much) a matter of personal taste?




Mmmmm. Which food consistently makes me hum? Steamed mussels & garlic w/a glass of red. Particular company. Yes.

How much is too much explication?

Explication is a tried/true way to dissect craft and measure underpinnings & conveyance of a poem.

I prefer savoring whole cloth, slow disrobing of inexplicable silence.




Which foods slowly disrobe taste? Try squash soup – satiny, savory.