I have just read a good food poem called 'Pot Roast' by Mark Strand
(1978)...in lines where he writes in lines, that there is little to love and
praise 'he bends to the power of food' - great poem!
I shall indulge - anyone out there having hot sweats?
Dancing Bears
A puff of silent trickery
begins in the morning
hot moisture rises slowly
but it's not sex I'm having.
Daily I meet my fellow travellers
we're the ones in the doorways of cool rooms
inventing air balloons
minding each other's warm breath.
They tell me it's power
a surge will ignite creativity
but dancing bears suffer in silence
and I'm stewing in a body
of seedless fruit.
If only to find the truth
I'd steal Aladdin's eternal oil
rub the old neck
unlock fingers and toes
and ask the genie to peel skin.
So tonight darling!
I'm your crusty pie
a puffed, spiced pastry
a boiled dessert of fruit
a hot, hot lady
you cannot taste
until I wish.
Helen Hagemann
>From: Clayton Hansen <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: [log in to unmask]
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: Food for thought
>Date: Sat, 26 Aug 2000 09:45:36 +1000
>
>
>
>Clayton Hansen wrote:
>
> >
> >
>
>I should have posted my attempt, I guess
>
>from: for each sense an image..
>
>
>IV
>
>the mouth fills with green sap and words like casuarinas
> and tourists and surprise: one to hold, one to stab and throttle.
>the headland lined with snaking paths is mistaken for a lime verjuice: an
> acid-cleansing, and the rocks at fairy beach like canisters split
>
>when thrown, and if you lick the warm stone you imagine fish, you imagine
> the soft, ripe core of an oyster, the sunscreen a tangy dressing…
>wiped from a body pink with blood, a body left in the mould and
> spores that creep through the pandanus litter: this is death, taste it
>–
> take the rime of musk with your tongue. even the hardest coppers shook
> their heads, were put off their food.
>
>
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