Porkopolis.org is pleased to announce a major update to the Best Loved Pig Poetry section of the Library.
I have added poems by twenty pig poets who are new to the library’s collection, and I have also added additional poems by four poets already in the collection.
Some general themes emerged as I prepared all these new poets and their work for the library’s collection. The newly added poet’s names are grouped below. You can click a familiar name to go directly to their poetry, or you can see the full list of poets in the Best Loved Pig Poetry of the Best Loved Pig Poetry section.
This is an addition of exceptional poets and poetry.
Please root about and enjoy!
Snacks, meals & gluttony
These four poets discuss the eating habits of pigs and those of their similar tasting human consumers. Discussed here are: gluttony, indiscriminating diets, the enjoyment of chocolate and pigs inevitable culinary fate as they glide down our predatory throats. And, lest we get too sure of our perch on the food chain, two other poets remind us that parasitic invasions can be part of Nature’s plan for us when we eat our pals the pigs.
Morality, tragedy & death
To paraphrase Orwell, a tragic situation exists for the pig when its literal virtues do not triumph, though the porker seems nobler than the forces which would destroy it. Here, situations are laid out and explanations are given as eight poets consider the pig as a totem of morality, tragedy and death. They give us insight and instruction on the relative kindness of time, getting past despair, stying up, revenge, fate, folly, pleasing the pigs and that ivyless gate where the pigs can often get in.
Religion, transformation & philosophy
Can we really know the pig? Eight poets contemplate this and attempt to dispel the possible incongruities of pigs and philosophic thought. Paving new pig paths, these poets transform pigs before our reading eyes. Dust returns to dust, sparks of the divine appear, permutations are savored slowly, and yes, alcohol might be involved. Following the swineherd’s song, the clatter of Circe’s loom or some unremembered but impelling force, the pigs line up snout to butt and the instruction begins.