O Cheese, poem by Donald Hall

O CHEESE
By Donald Hall

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’Evêque 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 couple,
this solitude, this energy, these bodies slowly dying.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Donald Hall (born 1928) was the first poetry editor of The Paris Review. He served as United States Poet Laureate (2006-2007) and has been the recipient of many award and honors, including Guggenheim Fellowships, designation as Poet Laureate of New Hampshire (198401989), National Book Critics Circle Award for Poetry, Los Angeles Times Book Prize in poetry, and the National Medal of Arts (2010).

O Cheese, Poem by Donald Hall

O CHEESE
By Donald Hall

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’Evêque 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 couple,
this solitude, this energy, these bodies slowly dying.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Donald Hall (born 1928) was the first poetry editor of The Paris Review. He served as United States Poet Laureate (2006-2007) and has been the recipient of many award and honors, including Guggenheim Fellowships, designation as Poet Laureate of New Hampshire (198401989), National Book Critics Circle Award for Poetry, Los Angeles Times Book Prize in poetry, and the National Medal of Arts (2010).

Cheese Poem: The Moon by Oliver Herford

CHEESE POEM: THE MOON

By Oliver Herford

The Moon is like a big round cheese

That shines above the garden trees,


And like a cheese grows less each night,
     

As though some one had had a bite.
 


 

The Mouse delights to nibble cheese,
     

The Dog bites anything he sees —


But how could they bite off the Moon
     

Unless they went in a balloon?
 


 

And Human People, when they eat
     

They think it rude to bite their meat,


They use a Knife or Fork or Spoon;
     

Who is it then that bites the moon?

Photo: “Yellow Full Moon” by Faiza, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Poetic Inspiration: Hard Boiled Eggs

Earlier today, I posted an excerpt from an interview with Haruki Murakami in The Paris Review, where he discusses the influence of hardboiled detective fiction on his work. I thought it would be funny if the subsequent post were a poem about hard boiled eggs (if one existed).

When I Googled “hard boiled egg” poem, lo and behold, I hit the hard boiled egg jackpot. It seems that beaucoup poets have written odes to hard boiled eggs!

In thinking this over, I came to the conclusion that these poets decided they “had” to write about something  — and focused on one of the first things that greeted them in the a.m.: BREAKFAST. Thus, all the paeans to eggs cooked in boiling water.

So I declare January 11th HARD BOILED EGG poetry day at the Silver Birch Press blog and will run some of these lyrical breakfast treats throughout the day.

THE HARD BOILED EGG

by Ruth M. (member of a poetry group at this link)

As I peel my egg,

shell adheres

to the clear membrane

in chunks, like ice floes

on the surface of water.

 

Before I bite

the end, cool and round,

I know the felt-like yolk

will mix with the metallic white,

 

an aggregate flowing with

grains of pepper and salt

on the riverbed of my tongue.

 

Every day is a completeness

like this. Conversations

like embryos fresh

and awake for surprise.

 

Nakedness under a shell.

Nourishment begun

at my mother’s white table cloth

that spreads to the snow

 

fields around this farm peppered

with thistle crowns and bare

branches emerging from

under the mask of white

that curves around the world.

###

Illustration: Nguyet Vuong, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED