“This Is Just to Say”
Fallen plums from our neighbor's tree last October
The end of today’s “This American Life” was a tribute to William Carlos Williams’ sparse, perhaps unfeeling “This is Just to Say” poem. It’s one of my favorites. It’s a non-apologizing apology, which contributors from Sarah Vowell to Shalom Auslander riff on in their own versions of the verse. But I mostly love it for its simple evocation of the powerful temptation represented by those crisp, cold plums. As President Obama once said, “The flesh is weak.”
| This Is Just To Say | ||
| by William Carlos Williams | ||
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold Copyright © 1962 by William Carlos Williams. Used with permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this poem may be reproduced in any form without the written consent of the publisher. |
||
BaltimOregon to Maine 
Savoring
the guilt free
bold enjoyment
of free fruits
calling for
consumption
May we be so bold
in our forgiveness
when our ice box
is raided and plums
pilfered?
Abthony Noble
April 13, 2009 at 10:45 am
Loved the poem…here’s another good one about self-absorption in eating.
Man Eating by Jane Kenyon
The man at the table across from mine
is eating yogurt. His eyes, following
the progress of the spoon, cross briefly
each time it nears his face. Time, and the world with all its principalities,
might come to an end as prophesied
by the Apostle John, but what about
this man, so completely present to the little carton with its cool,
sweet food, which has caused no animal
to suffer, and which he is eating
with a pearl-white plastic spoon.
“Man Eating” by Jane Kenyon, from Collected Poems. (c) Graywolf Press, 2005. Reprinted with permission
m-i-l
April 13, 2009 at 5:14 pm
Oh love any food-related poems. And don’t forget that sexy “Linguini” one you sent:
Linguini by Diane Lockward
It was always linguini between us.
Linguini with white sauce, or
red sauce, sauce with basil snatched from
the garden, oregano rubbed between
our palms, a single bay leaf adrift amidst
plum tomatoes. Linguini with meatballs,
sausage, a side of brascioli. Like lovers
trying positions, we enjoyed it every way
we could-artichokes, mushrooms, little
neck clams, mussels, and calamari-linguini
twining and braiding us each to each.
Linguini knew of the kisses, the smooches,
the molti baci. It was never spaghetti
between us, not cappellini, nor farfalle,
vermicelli, pappardelle, fettucini, perciatelli,
or even tagliarini. Linguini we stabbed, pitched,
and twirled on forks, spun round and round
on silver spoons. Long, smooth, and always
al dente. In dark trattorias, we broke crusty panera,
toasted each other–La dolce vita!–and sipped
Amarone, wrapped ourselves in linguini,
briskly boiled, lightly oiled, salted, and lavished
with sauce. Bellissimo, paradisio, belle gente!
Linguini witnessed our slurping, pulling, and
sucking, our unraveling and raveling, chins
glistening, napkins tucked like bibs in collars,
linguini stuck to lips, hips, and bellies, cheeks
flecked with formaggio–parmesan, romano,
and shaved pecorino–strands of linguini flung
around our necks like two fine silk scarves.
“Linguini” by Diane Lockward, from What Feeds Us. (c) Wind Publications, 2006. Reprinted with permission.
Laura
April 13, 2009 at 7:33 pm
There are many parodies of this poem. I like to assign one to my students when I teach poetry, and they never fail to delight.
Here’s mine for your picture:
I have raked up
the plums
that were in
your backyard
and which
you were probably
saving
for compost
Forgive me
they were beehives
so rotten
and so old
Eugenia
April 13, 2009 at 9:05 pm
Oh I like yours! It really invokes the tragic waste of fallen fruit we have in the Pacific Northwest. Check out the other parodies at TAL. Where do you teach? I miss teaching and hope to get back to it soon!
baltimoregon
April 14, 2009 at 2:24 am