Cast iron Sunday

We reconstituted the porcinis in 

a cup and half of boiled water,

and strained and rinsed them

carefully to clarify as stock,

to concentrate it later. Yester-

day's errands led to discovering

a recent collection by the po-

et-essayist-immigrant-memoirist

Charles Simic, of exceptionally

memorable images. They call for

the magic of a braising in cast

iron, a patient afternoon for
Sunday's expectations to be out-
sripped by relief from inter-
ference. In his own new collec-
tion, Alan Bennett asks his di-
ary, If one could write a story
about a masterpiece and include
the masterpiece why bother to 
put it in a frame in the first
place? His objection would be
sorry news for many, but it is
the very maxim of neutrality of
cast iron, and allowing wine to
stand. It is its only decanter.

                  Whatever solace you have for me,

                  Glass of old red wine,

                  Whisper it in my ear

                  With each little sip I take,

                  And only in my ear,

                  In this hour made solemn

                  By the news on the radio,

                  The dying fires of sunset,

                  And the trees in my yard

                  Putting on their black coats.

Alan Bennett
Keeping On Keeping On
  The Diaries
  13 September 2007
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2017©

Charles Simic
The Lunatic
  Poems
  The Wine
Ecco/Harper Collins, 2015©

i  Esther Bubley, photographer
   Seismographers in Texas
   1945