Tag: Friut

Poetry - Fig

Poetry – Fig

The proper way to eat a fig, in society,Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower. Then you throw away the skinWhich is just like a four-sepalled calyx,After you have taken off the blossom with your lips. But the vulgar wayIs just to put your mouth to the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite. Every fruit has its secret. The fig is a very secretive fruit.As you see it standing growing, you feel at once it is symbolic:And it seems

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Poetry – Medlars And Sorb-Apples

I love you, rotten,Delicious rottenness. I love to suck you out from your skinsSo brown and soft and coming suave,So morbid, as the Italians say. What a rare, powerful, reminiscent flavorComes out of your falling through the stages of decay:Stream within stream. Something of the same flavor as Syracusan muscat wineOr vulgar Marsala. Though even the word Marsala will smack of preciositySoon in the pussy-foot West. What is it?What is it, in the grape turning raisin,In the medlar, in the sorb-apple,Wineskins of brown morbidity,Autumnal excrementa;What is it that reminds us of white gods? Gods nude as blanched nut-kernels,Strangely, half-sinisterly flesh-fragrantAs

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