I know, I know. I’m writing this at the risk of being forever categorized as the blogger of processed meat. If you spend much time here at the Best American Poetry Blog, you will typically find at the bottom of an entry the suggestion “You might also like:” with 3 links to previous entries. I always wonder what those suggestions are based on, the profile of the visitor or the associations of the current posting? Likely the latter. However, often enough the blog-gods suggest that I might also like: the M-m-etc.-mortadella entry. Of course I would; I wrote it, AND I’m at least temporarily still crazy for Mortadella di Bologna (see said former entry).
And it’s strictly coincidental that my introduction to this week of guest-blogging should once again veer toward a meat grinder’s product, but alas. Such is the case. Here at BAP, as it’s fondly referred to after typing the full name out a couple of times, we guest bloggers move freely from the highbrow to the lowbrow. I for one was swept off my feet by last week’s guest blogger Lera Auerbach’s engaging entries. What a stunning combination of reflection, music, photos and video. If you missed them, go back and catch up. I especially recommend the video documentary, Return to Dresden (yes, embedded right there). Brava Lera, and thanks. It was a remarkable week.
Besides Lera, Nin Andrews posted a bitch of a poem, and what could be hotter than a man in the kitchen (a man in a yurt??)—I ask you. As you can see, there’s always something to pique anyone’s interest here at BAP, from the sublime to the, er, sausage.
So as I
considered how to dive into my own guest blogging stint, I was reminded of the
story my good friend Rich tells about the time he ran for the school board in
our community. One evening during the campaign, the candidates were given the
opportunity to give speeches to the voters. Rich tells how the candidate before
him got up and introduced himself. “Good evening. I’m George Buonocore. In
Italian, buonocuore means good heart.
If I’m elected that’s what you’ll get, a good heart.” I happened to have had
this gentleman as a high school science teacher. I could picture him, tall,
dark, doe-eyed, soft-spoken. Buonocuore to the core.
After his
opponent had elaborated his strengths and strategies, Rich, also Italian but of
stockier build, took the podium. “Good evening,” he said to the audience. “My
name is Richard Salsiccia. Salsiccia. In Italian that means sausage.”
While
ultimately he didn’t win the election, his good humor served him well. I’m
looking forward to spending time here this coming week with the best of company,
and like Rich, serving up what I can.
See you tomorrow,
PST.
