Wednesday, August 27, 2008

blowing the raw food diet, Izzy reads Baxter.

I STILL have not a camera. If I had a camera, there would be a large bright image of last nights dinner - the colours were glorious. Imagine; colours of grated beet with carrot (madder rouge &rouge de cadmium clair in my paint box) piled next to pilaf the colour of turmeric- interspersed with pistachio (hints of bright green). To make the colours even more astounding, I had made a chickpea-pumpkin (mustard with bright yellow) salad with a sun dried tomato dressing. This was laced with freshly torn coriander. My raw food diet 'suffered' a little. The 'cooked' looked so inviting with the 'raw'-I ate the lot.
I ate too much.
The kids didn't seem to appreciate the colours as much as I, sort of 'ho-humming' my exuberance. All they wanted to do was eat I guess.

I discovered Baxter. James K Baxter. What a poet! I occasionally read poetry to the kids at meal times-just to add to the fun of it all. I have read Hone Tuwhare and Jenny Bornholdt to them. They seem to appreciate it and they make up poems for me.
So, last night it was J K Baxter's turn. Izzy read out this poem in her wee seven year old voice, (she chose it):
The Lion Skin
The old man with a yellow flower on his coat
came to my office, climbing twenty-eight steps,
With a strong smell of death about his person ("Yucky!")
From the caves of the underworld.
The receptionist was troubled by his breath
Not every morning tea break (The other kids started leaving the table about here, but Izzy was resiliant and kept reading...these 'hard words')
Does Baron Saturday visit his parishioners
Walking stiffly, strutting almost, ("whats a baron?")
With a cigar in his teeth-she might have remembered (ooooo..smokings bad mum..)
Lying away as if nailed by a spear
Two nights ago, with the void of her life
Glassed in a dark window-but suitably enough (Izzy starts mumbling-clearly bored but happy to please me..)
She preferred to forget it.
I welcomed him
And poured him a glass of cherry brandy,
Talked with him for half an hour or so,
Having need of his strength, the skin of a dead lion,
In the town whose ladders are made of coffin wood.

The flower on his coat blazed like a dark sun. ("can I have a banana?")

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