Poetry is a form of cookery, which term denotes cooking plus the
black arts. Just when you think you have listened well, have tested
the dish with all the probes experience has supplied, have listened
several times through to the sizzling piece's rhythms, faults and grace
notes; just when you have finally decided to push the clumsy beast out
of your birth canal and onto a serving dish...the phone rings, or comes
knocking at your door Senor Diversion, whose job it is to embarrass you
by making the false seem fair, and the untrue, square. The thick
scribble becomes a fine line, and the weed-blighted yard, a
fair-meter'd space.
Hungry people must eat extra cabbage; sometimes we are asked to digest
an ill-judged word or two.
Sorry.
David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon
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