Monday, March 14, 2011



Recipe of the Month

* 1 lb., more or less, of fresh words. [Find a wide spring assortment of the universal language of love, the most beautiful blossoms and blooms. But let’s be realistic — thistles and thorns should be included.]
* 3/4 cup of crisp metaphor, loosely packed. [Wash and trim thoroughly. Be sure to pick out all cliches. ]
* 7 of the freshest rhymes you can find.
* 14 firm (not mushy) lines of iambic pentameter.
* 1/4 tsp. each of chopped fresh oregano and basil, tasting as real as the earth.
* 3 cups vine ripened tomatoes still warm from the garden sun. [Holding them in your hands, you won’t be able not to think of love.]
* 1/2 cup chopped rue.
* 3 tablespoons vinegar.
* 1/4 cup sugar
* 1 infinitesimal pinch of thyme. (Lovers will be suspicious if there seems to be enough thyme for them.)
* 3 drops pure heart’s blood.
* 3 drops lovers’ sweat distilled from two bodies dancing as if their lives depended on it.
* 1 splash of tears (but dont overdo.)
* Go easy on the garlic.

Arrange in a 81/2 X 11 receptacle, layering the lines as if you were putting together lasagna. [Make sure the lines are of uniform width and length. Pay attention to the borders. What a poem is not saying just beyond its edges is important, too.]
Fix rhymes artfully but firmly to the end of lines. [Surprise is what you’re after.]
Distribuite le metafore equamente (non mischiate!) Distribute metaphors evenly throughout. [Do not mix!]
Liberally decorate with the language of love. [Blend in the vinegar and sugar. Make sure it’s all a bit more sweet than sour.]
Prick a vein with the tip of Grandma’s best knife. Let 3 drops of blood spatter on the lines.
Don’t forget to go easy on the garlic. Add rue before serving, but not too much. [Love makes optimists of us all.]
Roast the poem over the raging, fragrant fires of inspiration, as long as it takes.
Baste every 20 minutes with blood, sweat and tears. [Keep looking at the clock.]
When the poem is tender yet still very, very rare, remove from oven. Sit down at a table that’s not too large, with one you care for terribly, or think you could, given the right night and light, the savor of what art can do to fire and time, all the wonders of our mortal hungers. Serve your partner. Now, share.


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