Clayton,
If you're looking for something a bit different on the taste theme,
there's Dorothy Porter's poem on cigarettes in Crete.
There's lots of tasting (manily drinking) in my work, I realise. I've
taken the liberty of posting one poem from my third book, The Book of
Possibilities (hale & Iremonger, 1997).
The deep bowls of winter
Deep bowls of winter
fill tonight with simmering.
Hearts of vegetables, collation
of flesh and skin.
Assembled by the light
that loves the ripeness,
the knife which adores
spilling juice and seed.
If they say winter is hard,
remember this kitchen,
the animal drift to the stove.
And curling from the top
of a pan is the invitation
for lips and throat,
combination of blue flame
and the wide black pot.
In the mouth lies a garland,
hot sweet chilli, garlic,
thirst of salt. All cells
may drink rich brown stews.
Another gift lingers in
the light of conversation, plates
flat as hands. The last offer
of juice flows into night.
Cheers,
Jill
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