The Poetry Friday Roundup is at My Juicy Little Universe.
Vermont is an eight minute drive from our farm in Washington County, NY, and its green mountains are just as much part of the every day scenery around here as are the dairy farms and cornfields of upstate New York. In fact, I see an equal number of Vermont license plates as I do ones from New York in my travels everyday. We are, it appears, close and good neighbors. One of the great delights of being here has been access to Vermont Public Radio, host to NPR, which is I what I listen to whenever I’m not teaching, reading, or talking. I’m learning a lot about Vermont, and liking the state and its people more and more every day. It’s actually a relief to get a bit of distance from NPR in New York City for the summer, and listen to stories about searching for whippoorwills and the history of log driving for a change. Best of all, VPN hosts the Writer’s Almanac (sadly, WNYC does not), so every morning I get to hear Garrison Keillor read a poem and tell of literary events that took place on this day of the month in years past.
On Wednesday, he shared a poem about tomatoes which had me eating them for breakfast. Who would not want to, after reading this?
Suddenly it is August again, so hot,
I sit on the ground
in the garden of Carmel,
picking ripe cherry tomatoes
and eating them.
They are so ripe that the skin is split,
so warm and sweet
from the attentions of the sun,
the juice bursts in my mouth,
an ecstatic taste,
and I feel that I am in the mouth of summer,
sloshing in the saliva of August.
Hummingbirds halo me there,
in the great green silence,
and my own bursting heart
splits me with life.