The Loaf (by Paul Muldoon)
The Loaf (by Paul Muldoon)
Original Text
Paul Muldoon, Moy Sand and Gravel (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2002).
This
poem
is reproduced on the Griffin Prize Web Site
(from the winning volume on the 2003 International Shortlist).
1When I put my finger to the hole they’ve cut for a dimmer
2 switch
3in a wall of plaster stiffened with horsehair
4it seems I’ve scratched a two-hundred-year-old itch
5with a pink and a pink and pinkie-pick.
6When I put my ear to the hole I’m suddenly aware
7of spades and shovels turning up the gain
8all the way from Raritan to the Delaware
9with a clink and a clink and clinky-click.
10When I put my nose to the hole I smell the flood-plain
11of the canal after a hurricane
12and the spots of green grass where thousands of Irish have
13 lain
14with a stink and a stink and a stinky-stick.
15When I put my eye to the hole I see one holding horse
16 dung to the rain
17in the hope, indeed, indeed,
18of washing out a few whole ears of grain
19with a wink and a wink and a winkie-wick.
20And when I do at last succeed
21in putting my mouth to the horsehair-fringed niche
22I can taste the small loaf of bread he baked from that
23 whole seed
24with a link and a link and a linky-lick.
RPO poem Editors
Ian Lancashire
RPO Edition
2011