I did not know that Edward Thomas sometimes made use of the entries in his journal as the raw material for his poetry.
His practice is not unique. Ben Jonson boasted that he wrote all his poems in prose first, then re-wrote them into verse.
So I decided to try an experiment. I took a blog post, written some years ago, called What My Father Ate. For ease of reference, I reproduce it here.
"Sardines, by the tinful. Herrings, canned, either in wine
sauce or in tomato sauce. Whitefish. Lima beans which came into the
house dried but which were soaked to plump up, then boiled and mashed (but
not for me, if I could possibly avoid them). Potatoes in any form,
but usually mashed and buttered. No chicken or lamb chops, but lots of
tongue. (When I left home, I vowed never to eat tongue again, and I've
kept the faith.) Chopped chicken liver. Steak, when we could afford
it. Roast pork with applesauce. Delicatessen meats — salami,
baloney, corned beef, frankfurters. Baked beans, courtesy of
Heinz. Apples, right down to the stem. Chocolate in any form, but
especially white chocolate. Halvah, a particular favorite. Dates and
figs, dried. Black radishes and onions, covered with gribbinis. Tschav,
borsht with huge helpings of sour cream. Corn on the cob. No alcohol, nary
a drop. On hot days, no beer, but instead iced tea or iced coffee. Cheese,
either Velveeta or swiss. Good bread – pumpernickel or
rye. Crumb cake direct from Ebinger's Bakery. Bacon and two
eggs, sunnyside up or soft-boiled. Cream o' Wheat. Swee-Touch-Nee
tea. On Sunday morning, bagels and rolls, warm from the oven, eaten while
reading the Times (25 cents)
and the Eagle (10 cents). Ice cream,
the more exotic the flavor the better."
And then I turned it into a sonnet, with these results.
Fragrant, oily iridescent sardines,
Herring by the tinful, gefilte fish;
Lima beans, soaked, boiled, mashed and then buttered
Crowding the flesh to the edge of the dish.
Salami, baloney, baked beans, and tongue.
Chopped chicken liver, calf liver with bacon,
Corned beef, frankfurters slathered with mustard
Pastrami — and anything delicatessen.
Roast pork with applesauce, roasted potatoes.
Black radish, gribbinis, onions, and rye bread,
Cheese — cream, Velveeta or Swiss – on a bagel.
On Sundays, Ebinger’s
crumb cake instead.
Apples, core and all, gnawed down to the stem.
The flesh, the seeds, the skin – all gone just like him.
Doesn't seem to work for me. I guess you have to be a poet, which I obviously am not. Or perhaps there's a problem with the raw material.
Leave a Reply