Because bread alone is not enough

We attended a dinner party last night. And because bread alone is not enough, we brought....poetry.

I really did bring a loaf of sourdough bread that I baked in the afternoon, but my husband and I both felt like it was a great idea to give something that would last. Plus, it was the first day of National Poetry month, and what better way to kick that off. Our Argentine hosts appreciated the gesture and the significance, and we had some lovely conversations last night.


Here is a poem that's been wandering around in my head lately. It's from Linda Pastan's recent collection Queen of a Rainy Country, which is filled with poems as rich as this one.

Rereading Frost

Sometimes I think all the best poems 

have been written already,

and no one has time to read them,

so why try to write more?

At other times though,

I remember how one flower

in a meadow already full of flowers

somehow adds to the general fireworks effect

as you get to the top of a hill

in Colorado, say, in high summer

and just look down at all that brimming color.

I also try to convince myself

that the smallest note of the smallest

instrument in the band,

the triangle, for instance,

is important to the conductor

who stands there, pointing his finger

in the direction of the percussions,

demanding that one silvery ping.

And I decide not to stop trying,

at least not for a while, though in truth

I'd rather just sit here reading 

how someone else has been acquainted

with the night already, and perfectly.

Linda Pastan

♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves