{"id":2682,"date":"2014-11-15T10:40:06","date_gmt":"2014-11-15T18:40:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/alteritas.net\/GXL\/?p=2682"},"modified":"2015-04-28T13:55:44","modified_gmt":"2015-04-28T20:55:44","slug":"un-pastis-a-bandol-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/GXL\/?p=2682","title":{"rendered":"Un pastis \u00e0 Bandol"},"content":{"rendered":"

Pistachios of the sea piled high in heaps
\nstill tangled in their unscrubbed iodine
\nbeards, animate rocaille against which
\nare set in glossy not to say slimy
\niridescent rows racasse<\/em>, mullet, John Dory,
\nconger, their inert but unglaucous eyes
\npeering up at saffrony mid-day while
\non another makeshift stand, translucent
\nhusks peeling in wisps from involuted
\nheads, rise mounds of fresh garlic\u2014makings
\nof a fine bouillabaisse I shall not eat.<\/p>\n

I dream a little and lift the chill
\nglass goblet, in whose milky contents
\nfloat opaque bluish cubes, up above
\na red-checkered table cloth and a basket
\nof bias-cut crusts of crisp baguette\u2014no joke!
\nThen, lip-synching towards the dappled patch
\nof cobalt sea beyond the ovate hulls \u00a0of moored
\nyachts sleek in the soft sun, I utter these words
\nas they form in my mind: \u00e0 la bonne mienne<\/em>.<\/p>\n

This is no museum. This is not even
\na glossy coffee-table book. No still life
\nsmells of Gauloises, geraniums, marine gas.
\nThe cobble rim of the wharf has not been built up
\nin layers with linseed oil, though where sloshed wet
\nby chop splashed from below subtle highlights
\nhave been made to gleam. The background babble
\nof a thousand words in Proven\u00e7al French
\nis part of this picture, like appetite whetted
\nby anisette, pushing me at the riotous pull
\nof lives I only imagine but long to slip on,
\nclothes which I would then be able to slip off.<\/p>\n

Soon, over his aproned paunch, the gar\u00e7on
\nwill slide a porcelain plate of crudit\u00e9s
\nbefore my eyes, an idea I had never
\nentertained, like artichokes, aubergines,
\nlike a kiosk, newspapers on display,
\nlike this place to sit, eat, compose, thoughts
\nto be sure but this pastiche as well, in which
\nsignal flags flap in a stiff onshore breeze,
\nfa\u00e7ades scintillate in undulating
\nplein-air, windows open not in, not out,
\nand the concavity of a simple spoon
\nreflects everything contained.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

I have tweaked and brought back this four-year old poem because I realized that it foreshadowed, at my unbeknowst, my current interest in the techniques of painting. Starting with two still-lifes, it modulates into a marine landscape and then a cafe-terrace-cum-street scene before finishing with a trompe-l\u2019oeil close-up. <\/em>Un pastis \u00e0 Bandol is as well a token of my enchantment with Provence, which was fueled by my first visit to Richard Olney in Solli\u00e8s-Toucas in 1969, later others there and to nearby Bandol, where I often stopped to see the Peyraud family at Domaine Tempier and taste in their cellars. Richard was the second important mentor in my life, though in retrospect I can see that it was not cooking as such which I learned from him. I am a much better poet than chef,\u00a0<\/em>if I do say so myself. I was thinking the other day that if I had only composed a poem for each of the many complex festive meals I prepared (like these<\/a>), I would have left a richer legacy behind. I dare say this would not have been the preference of my friends and family. Good food is much easier to digest than poetry.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Pistachios of the sea piled high in heaps still tangled in their unscrubbed iodine beards, animate rocaille against which are set in glossy not to say slimy iridescent rows racasse, mullet, John Dory, conger, their inert but unglaucous eyes peering up at saffrony mid-day while on another makeshift stand, translucent husks peeling in wisps from … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Un pastis \u00e0 Bandol”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

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