04-20-2014, 12:34 PM
Revision 1
For Seamus Heaney
I lean, palms pressed upon cool marble,
over a book of your recipes
as dappled light filters to me
from leaves camouflaging the back field.
Dog-eared, well-thumbed,
inclined agin a rolling pin,
its precise phrasing instructs me
to peel and slice an onion.
Dropping the brown bulb
to the board, I'm awakened,
immediately, by the dead knock
of its weight on the wood.
I nick and strip its papery skin,
center, then split into two pale discs,
like morning suns.
Eclipsing one, I begin to dice.
My dull blade chaws and stutters
through thick rotations, tearing layers
into one another and releasing
a keen earthy tang
that confronts and quickens-
then blurs my senses;
a concentrative furrowing
that needles the very middle of the mind.
But the sting subsides
as the diced flesh pops, spits
and sizzles in smoking oil,
simmering to golden translucent clarity,
liberating a sweet-savoury aroma
that stimulates a deeply satisfying
insatiable hunger to understand something
so much simpler and yet more accomplished than I.
Original
Light filters to me through leaves
camouflaging the back field
as I lean, palms pressed upon cool marble,
over a spine-broken book of your recipes;
dog-eared, well-thumbed,
inclined agin a rolling pin,
it instructs me
to peel and slice an onion.
Clasping the gleaming orb
worked from earth, my elbow yields
to density, then rebounds
from the board's wooden knell.
I nick and strip it's sere brown skin,
center and split to reveal
two pale discs of morning sun
and eclipsing one, begin to slice.
My dull blade chaws and stutters
through thick rotations, tearing layers
into one another and releasing
a keen earthy tang
that confronts and quickens
then blurs the senses
with concentrated tears; a furrowing
that needles the very middle of the mind.
But the sting is salved
when I scrape the grey mulch
into smoking oil and it spits and sizzles,
simmering to golden translucent clarity,
liberating a sweet-savoury aroma
that stimulates a deeply satisfying
insatiable hunger to understand something
so much simpler and yet more accomplished than I.
For Seamus Heaney
I lean, palms pressed upon cool marble,
over a book of your recipes
as dappled light filters to me
from leaves camouflaging the back field.
Dog-eared, well-thumbed,
inclined agin a rolling pin,
its precise phrasing instructs me
to peel and slice an onion.
Dropping the brown bulb
to the board, I'm awakened,
immediately, by the dead knock
of its weight on the wood.
I nick and strip its papery skin,
center, then split into two pale discs,
like morning suns.
Eclipsing one, I begin to dice.
My dull blade chaws and stutters
through thick rotations, tearing layers
into one another and releasing
a keen earthy tang
that confronts and quickens-
then blurs my senses;
a concentrative furrowing
that needles the very middle of the mind.
But the sting subsides
as the diced flesh pops, spits
and sizzles in smoking oil,
simmering to golden translucent clarity,
liberating a sweet-savoury aroma
that stimulates a deeply satisfying
insatiable hunger to understand something
so much simpler and yet more accomplished than I.
Original
Light filters to me through leaves
camouflaging the back field
as I lean, palms pressed upon cool marble,
over a spine-broken book of your recipes;
dog-eared, well-thumbed,
inclined agin a rolling pin,
it instructs me
to peel and slice an onion.
Clasping the gleaming orb
worked from earth, my elbow yields
to density, then rebounds
from the board's wooden knell.
I nick and strip it's sere brown skin,
center and split to reveal
two pale discs of morning sun
and eclipsing one, begin to slice.
My dull blade chaws and stutters
through thick rotations, tearing layers
into one another and releasing
a keen earthy tang
that confronts and quickens
then blurs the senses
with concentrated tears; a furrowing
that needles the very middle of the mind.
But the sting is salved
when I scrape the grey mulch
into smoking oil and it spits and sizzles,
simmering to golden translucent clarity,
liberating a sweet-savoury aroma
that stimulates a deeply satisfying
insatiable hunger to understand something
so much simpler and yet more accomplished than I.