The English major fails, but she has been drinking more.*

16 Aug


Hey. I’m supposed to get up in 5 hours so that I can get on a bus and go to work and that’s not really going to be a good enough reason to get out of bed. But I need your help. I’m supposed to choose and read a poem at my sister’s wedding next weekend and unfortunately right now I can only seem to find stuff that equates love to being shat upon right after you’ve showered and put on your last clean shirt. So while it’s a good time for me to get into poetry, when I agreed to do this I had forgotten how bitter, angsty, and disappointed poets are. They don’t really write for weddings. If you help me find something that is full of hope and anticipation but isn’t embarrassingly lusty, I can offer you some really awesome stuff to read at a funeral.

Here’s a great one by Donald Hall that is almost appropriate but is slightly off-topic:

O Cheese
In the pantry the dear dense cheeses, Cheddars and harsh
Lancashires, Gorgonzola with its magnanimous manner,
the clipped speech of Roquefort, and a head of Stilton
that speaks in a sensuous riddling tongue like Druids.

O cheeses of gravity, cheeses of wistfulness, cheeses
that weep continually because they know they will die.
O cheeses of victory, cheeses wise in defeat, cheeses
fat as a cushion, lolling in bed until noon.

Liederkranz ebullient, jumping like a small dog, noisy,
Pont l’Eveque intellectual, and quite well informed, Emmentaler
decent and loyal, a little deaf in the right ear,
and Brie the revealing experience, instantaneous and profound.

O cheeses that dance in the moonlight, cheeses
that mingle with sausages, cheeses of Stonehenge.
O cheeses that are shy, that linger in the doorway,
eyes looking down, cheeses spectacular as fireworks.

Reblochon openly sexual, Caerphilly like pine trees, small
at the timberline; Port du Salut in love; Caprice des Dieux
eloquent, tactful, like a thousand-year-old hostess;
and Dolcelatte, always generous to a fault.

O village of cheeses, I make you this poem of cheeses,
O family of cheeses, living together in pantries,
O cheeses that keep to your own nature, like a lucky dying couple,
this solitude, this energy, these bodies slowly dying.

*Tonight I had sangria.


4 Responses to “The English major fails, but she has been drinking more.*”

  1. Darcy 08/16/07 at 1:54 pm #

    i hear that shakespeare bloke wrote some nice ditties.

  2. wb 08/17/07 at 9:34 am #

    The cheese that I love sits in my cupboard.
    The cheese that I love sits on my plate.
    The cheese that I love lies unctuously upon my tongue.
    And soon, that cheese and I will become one.

    – unattributed

  3. sarah 08/17/07 at 9:53 am #

    well well well… as i was pleasantly stalking on facebook this morning, i stumbled across darcy’s blog. i was reading along (sorry i didn’t leave any comments darcy) and it appeared that there was a lot of chatting going on between the two of you. i thought to myself, does joanna really have a blog?? i immediately looked at darcy’s blog roll and tried to pick which i thought might be you. at first i thought it was the one about the cheese, but then i remembered after just stalking whitney’s profile, he seemed to enjoy cheese a lot. so i tried this one and was right. i am such an excellent stalker i can hardly stand it.

    miss you!

  4. Darcy 08/17/07 at 11:58 am #

    Sarah, you are in danger of becoming a lurker on my blog. next time you must post some love. I will write a better post so that it will be an easy task.

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