Dear Friends,
Due to travel delays and internet connection challenges beyond the anticipated scope, your Good Friday poem-a-day is arriving 24 hours late. My apologies. Cathy and I were supposed to be in San Antonio this weekend to watch the Stanford women's basketball team compete in the Final Four. Unfortunately, Cathy's uncle passed away, and we are now in Honolulu instead to spend time with family and attend his funeral.
Whether your plans for this weekend include a religious service, Final Four fever, bunnies and dyed eggs, drag queen nuns competing for best bonnet, or whether you're simply trying to ignore all of the above, it's certainly an apt occasion to reflect on the capacity of human languages, cultures, and religions to layer so many meanings on a single signifier — like an egg, an X, or a baby sheep.
Bon Appétit.
— Ellen
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On Cooking a Symbol at 400 Degrees
I butterflied Australian rack of lamb
with shallots, garlic, parsley, butter, wine
(some in the pan, some for the palate).
Although the livestock loved in nursery rhyme
avoided clumps of mint, it served my family
nonetheless. I am no PETA zealot
(leather jacket, handbag, wallet, shoes)
but wonder if the deeds we do pursue
us in the afterlife. Does the fleecy
creature have a tenderable claim?
My lambent mind considers our short lease
on life, the oven hot. Am I to blame?
Who gave thee such a tender voice? asked Blake.
Myself am Hell. I watch the mutton bake.
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By Patty Seyburn, as printed in the February 2010 issue of Poetry magazine.
For the Blake reference, see "The Lamb" (and "The Tyger") by the illuminated 18th-century British poet William Blake. Seyburn's train of thought then transitions to Satan's famous line from John Milton's Paradise Lost — a work that greatly influenced Blake.
Labels: NPM