Dear friends,
The process by which we select poems for a season of Poetry Unbound is demanding, but deliciously unscientific. I read about 200 books of poetry (mostly on PDF; while I love physical books, I travel too much to carry too many books at a time). Each of those books is filled with great poems. But there are ones that stand out as the reading time continues.
I narrow it down to a shortlist of about 30 poems, then 25, then 20. Myself and Gautam Srikishan, the producer (and musician extraordinaire) then read through, look for through-themes, and then have the first working list for the season. Then the permissions process begins, then we record, then edit, and also figure out what order the poems will go in for the season.
Anyway, all of this is a long lead-in (story of my life) to the through-line for the two poems we featured this week: Amanda Gunn’s “Ordinary Sugar” and Wo Chan’s “the smiley barista remembers my name.”
These two poems make such use of food: for remembering, for holding the movements of a day, for honouring enterprise, entrepreneurship, pluck, determination, change, forgiveness, aging, death, writing, and vocation. In these poems, it’s clear that the food is a tool that holds more than just vitamins; it holds love, courage, and a key to survival.
So, in honour of that, below’s a recipe for damned fine Irish wheaten bread. I’ve made this in too many countries, scouring shops for the ingredients. It’s great with good Irish butter. Or good Irish butter and homemade jam. Or with cheese and a small scrape of a sour rhubarb jam. This bread is one that friends have gathered around, cutting it open when it’s still too hot to cut. Yes yes.
In the comments, share some food item that holds more than the sum of its ingredients for you…
Pádraig
Irish Wheaten Bread (aka: Gluten Morgen Baby)
This recipe came to me from my friend Cary. I think she got it from someone who got it from Delia Smith. I imagine that it’s changed a little, but still — credit to Saint Delia.
1lb tin well greased
Preheated oven at gas mark 5, 190°C (375°F)
50-60 mins in a normal oven (45 mins in a fan assisted oven)
Ingredients
6oz (175g) wholewheat flour (also called wholemeal or coarse-brown-bread-flour)
2oz (50g) plain flour
2oz (50g) pinhead oatmeal (called Steel-cut oats)
1oz (25g) wheatgerm
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda (also called baking soda)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 large egg
10 fl oz (275ml) buttermilk (buttermilk is either a: milk that has gone off, or b: milk that’s had an acid added to it; I use lemon or lime juice. Some people make buttermilk by adding a splash of vinegar, but I think that’s theologically unjustifiable).
I should say that this is for one small loaf. I normally multiply everything by three and make two big loaves.
Every baking bread session should begin with a reading of “All Bread” by Margaret Atwood. It’s the rule.
Mix the wholemeal and plain flour together with the bicarbonate of soda — and sieve them. It helps the bread rise while it’s cooking.
Then add in the pinhead oatmeal, wheatgerm, salt, and buttermilk. Mix it up.
I throw in some nice sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds, too. Whatever feels good. Apart from fish sauce. Don’t put fish sauce in here, even if it feels good.
At this stage, you can put in the egg. Or, if you’re feeling very adventurous, you can separate the yolk from the white, and add in the yolk. Whisk the egg white and then fold that in. If you do that, you need to do some dancing to prove what a badass you are.
Grease the tin/s.
If you want, you can put put poppy and sesame seeds on the bottom/sides of the tin/s as this will make the crust be seed-infused-crust and there’s no home-made-organic-authentically-handcrafted-bread like seed-infused-crust-home-made-organic-authentically-handcrafted bread. If you do this, you’ll need to read Jericho Brown Psalm 150 aloud, with joy, for the sheer brilliance of its language, as well as all its other glories.
The whole mix should look like a thick porridge.
Pour it into the greased tins.
Often I put fresh oats on the top, too.
And, please don’t forget to say a blessing for the bread. Without it, the bread won’t do its work. Choose a blessing of your choice, or make it up. That’s where they all come from anyway.
Normally I put tinfoil over the greased tins so the oats don’t burn, but also to make sure the tins generate a lot of heat. That might be because I’ve got a temperamental oven, though.
Put it all into the oven, and read Margaret Atwood’s poem again. It’ll convince the bread that its purpose is to feed the body and soul.
The Latest from Poetry Unbound
Episodes 15 & 16
You can also listen on Spotify, poetryunbound.org, or wherever podcasts are found.
Poetry in the World
ONLINE
I said I’d have the registration links to “Strange Stories of the Bible” available by this weekend, but there’ve been some details that aren’t ironed out yet — it’ll be next week before the details are up. But you’ll find them here then.
U.S.A.
Open Your World with Poetry | Rhinebeck, NY
I’ll be back at the Omega Institute in New York leading another weeklong retreat, October 1-6. Discussions, readings, and writing sessions exploring the place of poetry, craft, language, and form in our lives. Each day, you’ll examine poems — some well known and other lesser known — and explore the artistry behind them. You’ll delve beyond the how of a poem and look at the why of a poem. Why did it need to be written? What does this poem explore about being human? What is the intuition and intelligence of this poem? What is its hunger? There’ll be prompts for you to respond to. Open for all who love writing or reading poetry — or want to! While the format and numbers will be similar to 2022’s event, we will include small groups, and the poems and prompts will be different to the previous year. Details, registration, and information about scholarships here.
SCOTLAND
“Poetry, Spirit and Survival” | Island of Iona, Scotland
I’ll be leading a retreat March 13-18, 2024. Find initial information and a form to indicate interest here, with a more detailed schedule to come.
I had to smile at your suggestion to say a blessing to the bread before baking. My mom always blew kisses to her bread as she placed them in the oven after rising on top of the stove. I still do this to this day. I use her recipe for babka often. I find that all kinds of home baked bread offer more then just nourishment.
It is 1974. I am 11 years old and my grandfather is picking me up in Boston and driving me back to my grandparents’ house in southern Maine. I’m hungry but it’s already 9 pm and my grandparents don’t hold with fast food. Instead, when we arrive I find my grandmother has set out a plate of cold ham sandwiches and a little cut glass bowl of sliced pickles. The sandwiches are on white bread that is soft, but no too soft. One slice of the bread is buttered and the other has mayonnaise, and in between them are thick slices of ham and some butter lettuce. There, in my grandparents’ cozy kitchen, it is the best ham sandwich I have ever eaten. Simple. Perfect. No other sandwich has come close since (and believe me I’ve tried), and I realize now of course that it was as much the time, the place, and most of all, my grandparents that made that sandwich such an enduring symbol of love for me.