Look out, Mentat, it's another poem!
Dec. 20th, 2003 01:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ambitious_wenchNote:
Recently, I've been cogitating on the political aspects of food. A recent discussion on the Argy-Bargy Shop regarding vegan condoms, Animal Testing/Animal Studies has had me re-evaluate my eating habits. I've decided to begin seeking out sources of more-humane meats, and including more vegetarian dishes in my meals.
So it's only natural, I think, to write about food too. I've loved beets ever since reading "Jitterbug Perfume". In Terry Prachitt's "Interesting Times", he speaks about food in a very political manner as well.
"They make soup from pigs whiskers here, what does that tell you? It means some rich bastard's nicked the rest of the pig." He tells of the regimentation of corn, all in neat rows, and how potatoes of revolt to grow underground, hidden.
Food can be political. But sometimes food is just food, and delicious at that.
This poem isn't very complex. I haven't intended any secret meanings, nor hidden agenda, political or mystical. Well, ok, maybe I did nick the concept of life beet juice as blood and life from Tom Robbin's "Jitterbug Perfume", but that's it. Really.
But if you see other things in it, by all means feel free to comment. Poetry isn't meant to exist in a vacuum.
Beets.
I love beets.
I love growing them,
for they are
as seditious
as revolutionary potatoes.
And they take up less room.
One beet per seed, no more.
But oh, that glorious red bulb
so rich with color
it stains fingers
and countertops
and cheap pots.
Mind the enamel
in the sink as well.
The flavor, you would expect,
should be intense.
At least
as hot and roaring as garlic,
or as sour as lemons.
Instead, it's almost shy,
the flavor of beets.
Distinctive
yet sweet,
but hearty as the life-blood
pulsing along in my veins.
I can taste
the metallic tang of iron.
Recently, I've been cogitating on the political aspects of food. A recent discussion on the Argy-Bargy Shop regarding vegan condoms, Animal Testing/Animal Studies has had me re-evaluate my eating habits. I've decided to begin seeking out sources of more-humane meats, and including more vegetarian dishes in my meals.
So it's only natural, I think, to write about food too. I've loved beets ever since reading "Jitterbug Perfume". In Terry Prachitt's "Interesting Times", he speaks about food in a very political manner as well.
"They make soup from pigs whiskers here, what does that tell you? It means some rich bastard's nicked the rest of the pig." He tells of the regimentation of corn, all in neat rows, and how potatoes of revolt to grow underground, hidden.
Food can be political. But sometimes food is just food, and delicious at that.
This poem isn't very complex. I haven't intended any secret meanings, nor hidden agenda, political or mystical. Well, ok, maybe I did nick the concept of life beet juice as blood and life from Tom Robbin's "Jitterbug Perfume", but that's it. Really.
But if you see other things in it, by all means feel free to comment. Poetry isn't meant to exist in a vacuum.
Beets.
I love beets.
I love growing them,
for they are
as seditious
as revolutionary potatoes.
And they take up less room.
One beet per seed, no more.
But oh, that glorious red bulb
so rich with color
it stains fingers
and countertops
and cheap pots.
Mind the enamel
in the sink as well.
The flavor, you would expect,
should be intense.
At least
as hot and roaring as garlic,
or as sour as lemons.
Instead, it's almost shy,
the flavor of beets.
Distinctive
yet sweet,
but hearty as the life-blood
pulsing along in my veins.
I can taste
the metallic tang of iron.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-12-20 05:05 pm (UTC)These days I'm amazed that people don't question what they eat...but I used to be like that too.