food for thought

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”
-G.K. Chesterton
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4 responses to “food for thought

  1. Trunk

    Sonnet to a Stilton Cheese

    Stilton, thou shouldst be living at this hour
    And so thou art. Nor losest grace thereby;
    England has need of thee, and so have I-
    She is a Fen. Far as the eye can scour,
    League after grassy league from Lincoln tower
    To Stilton in the fields, she is a Fen.
    Yet this high cheese, by choice of fenland men,
    Like a tall green volcano rose in power.
    Plain living and long drinking are no more,
    And pure religion reading ‘Household Words’,
    And sturdy manhood sitting still all day
    Shrink, like this cheese that crumbles to its core;
    While my digestion, like the House of Lords,
    The heaviest burdens on herself doth lay.

    G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)

  2. anon

    O Cheese
    By Donald Hall

    In the pantry the dear dense cheeses, Cheddars and harsh
    Lancashires; Gorgonzola with its magnanimous manner;
    the clipped speech of Roquefort; and a head of Stilton
    that speaks in a sensuous riddling tongue like Druids.

    O cheeses of gravity, cheeses of wistfulness, cheeses
    that weep continually because they know they will die.
    O cheeses of victory, cheeses wise in defeat, cheeses
    fat as a cushion, lolling in bed until noon.

    Liederkranz ebullient, jumping like a small dog, noisy;
    Pont l’Evêque intellectual, and quite well informed; Emmentaler
    decent and loyal, a little deaf in the right ear;
    and Brie the revealing experience, instantaneous and profound.

    O cheeses that dance in the moonlight, cheeses
    that mingle with sausages, cheeses of Stonehenge.
    O cheeses that are shy, that linger in the doorway,
    eyes looking down, cheeses spectacular as fireworks.

    Reblochon openly sexual; Caerphilly like pine trees, small
    at the timberline; Port du Salut in love; Caprice des Dieux
    eloquent, tactful, like a thousand-year-old hostess;
    and Dolcelatte, always generous to a fault.

    O village of cheeses, I make you this poem of cheeses,
    O family of cheeses, living together in pantries,
    O cheeses that keep to your own nature, like a lucky couple,
    this solitude, this energy, these bodies slowly dying.

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