Sunday, 18 August 2013

Cabbage poetry

p&g has been hanging around in a cabbage field lately. Not so much listening. As smelling.

Anyway even cabbages can be beautiful.

Look at Elizabeth Bishop's poem Manuelzinho written during her time in Brazil:

Half squatter, half tenant (no rent)—
a sort of inheritance; white,
in your thirties now, and supposed
to supply me with vegetables,
but you don't; or you won't; or you can't
get the idea through your brain—
the world's worst gardener since Cain.
Titled above me, your gardens
ravish my eyes. You edge
the beds of silver cabbages
with red carnations, and lettuces
mix with alyssum. And then
umbrella ants arrive,
or it rains for a solid week
and the whole thing's ruined again
and I buy you more pounds of seeds,
imported, guaranteed,
and eventually you bring me
a mystic thee-legged carrot,
or a pumpkin "bigger than the baby".

(This is an extract but you can read the full poem here

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