Friday, June 20, 2014
Mum and the Sothsegger, 898-901
898. breris ] briars
898. þaire ] their
898. wayes ] lane-ways
899. half ] side
900. Chesteynes and chiries ] chestnuts and cherries
901. loigged vndre leues ] hidden under leaves
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
A fifth of me’s me:
the rest’s chaser:
my true self: but
chuck 10 lbs. or so for bones,
steaks & chops &
two-over-easy & cream-on-the-side:
strip off a sheath of hide,
strip out nerves & veins
& permeable membranes,
what’s left’s a greasy spot:
the shallow stain
or go 100% spiritual
and fifth by fifth
achieve a whole,
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Stilton, thou shouldst be living at this hour
And so thou art. Nor losest grace thereby;
England has need of thee, and so have I—
She is a Fen. Far as the eye can scour,
League after grassy league from Lincoln tower
To Stilton in the fields, she is a Fen.
Yet this high cheese, by choice of fenland men,
Like a tall green volcano rose in power.
Plain living and long drinking are no more,
And pure religion reading “Household Words”,
And sturdy manhood sitting still all day
Shrink, like this cheese that crumbles to its core;
While my digestion, like the House of Lords,
The heaviest burdens on herself doth lay.
Hertz Shemets, sprung from the hospital with a nasty flesh wound and that Sitka General smell on him of onion broth and wintergreen soap, is lying on the couch in his son’s living room, his thin shanks sticking out of his pajamas like two uncooked noodles.
the yiddish policemen’s union
Monday, May 19, 2014
The belly pregnant with elephant triplets, the breasts full and pendulous, each tipped with a pink lentil of a nipple. The thighs, great hand-rolled marbled loaves of halvah. Lost in the shadows between them, a thick umbilicus of grayish-brown meat.
the yiddish policemen’s union
Recipes included ice-cream – “well before the other cunts were doing it” – and Buckfast with seafood. “Squid in its own ink, that’s disgusting,” the guy said. “So I tried it with Buckfast.”
Vice (via Lissa Minkel)
We had chicken for dinner. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t dry inside but sticky, pasty, gummy. I could think of the animal chicken. Pulled off whole muscles, delicately made, intact—delicately made by the infinite patient fingers of millions of years. All destroyed in a bite & grind. The corpse. And it was a strong hen. Maybe an old hen. I couldn’t eat it.
Ammons, diary, Dec. 4 1960
Friday, May 16, 2014
“Women and children first,” Irving cried as he whisked the lid from a steaming casserole.
“A New England boiled dinner!” Mrs. Turpin exclaimed shrilly. “I haven’t had one since we left Honolulu.”
—John Ashbery & James Schuyler, A Nest of Ninnies (1969)
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Hors d’ouevres were lentils, radishes, boiled eggs, sardines, celery, fried artichokes, olives, etc., then lazania, or something, then a dish of fruit with orange liqueur in it.
AR Ammons, Diary, Mar 3 1952
Next morning they would go over the dishes — the soup, the salmon; the salmon, Mrs. Walker knew, as usual underdone, for she always got nervous about the pudding and left it to Jenny; so it happened, the salmon was always underdone. But some lady with fair hair and silver ornaments had said, Lucy said, about the entrée, was it really made at home? But it was the salmon that bothered Mrs. Walker, as she spun the plates round and round, and pulled in dampers and pulled out dampers; and there came a burst of laughter from the dining-room; a voice speaking; then another burst of laughter — the gentlemen enjoying themselves when the ladies had gone.