- Nothing on the tongue more subtle; from the earth,
- not of it; of garlic, clove, oak, air,
- and stars if stars were small enough to taste
- and sprinkle on risotto.
- With difficulty cultivated under
- hundred-year-old oak as the Californian
- knew: replaced fifty acres of sequoia
- to make a grove from topsoil, loam
- and seedling oak, shipped from Provence across
- an ocean and a continent by steam,
- so his grandson could sell the fungal pearls
- to gourmets in San Francisco.
- Rare as honest speech, the best of these poems
- of oak from earth are not harvested but
- discovered by a farmer’s hungry pig.
- No reverence or commerce checks
- his desire to devour the tuber whole.
- Watch the farmer swing a barbed switch
- to keep the muzzled snout
- from bruising what it cannot eat.
About the Poet:
Stephen Brockwell, Canada, (contemporary) is a poet, editor and reviewer. His poetry collections include: The Wire in Fences (1988), The Cometology (2001), Fruitfly Geographic (2004) which won the Archibald Lampman Award and The Real Made Up (2007).
Brockwell has written reviews and articles for The Danforth Review, Rubicon and Books in Canada. Recent work has appeared in Arc, Prairie Fire, the Fiddlehead, the Antigonish Review, and Queen St Quarterly.
Along with Rob Mclennan, Brockwell is co-editor of Poetics.ca. and he is the Founder, President and Chief Technology Officer of Brockwell Consulting which provides independent business and technical leadership for the Autodesk geospatial community. [DES-01/13]