This
morning on Twitter, a friend quoted G K Chesterton: The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject
of cheese. The original sentence by
Chesterton, which appears in an essay appropriately entitled, Cheese, doesn't have 'the' at its beginning,
but is otherwise as writ. Cheese can be found in a
collection of Chesterton's essays entitled, Alarms and Discursions, which,
it turns out, I have on my shelves - it's one of about twenty-five Chesterton
titles I have, many of which I haven't read, for the reason that I
collected them faster at one point than I could keep up with reading them.
Chesterton is a superb writer, but can't be skimmed. Skim him and
you miss his point - in fact you're likely to miss several points, as he's
prolific in points.
Anyway, Cheese is a delightful
piece of nonsense, and if you want to read it without borrowing my copy it's
reproduced in full on the blog NMissCommentor - the blog is written by an
American lawyer named Tom Freeland, but isn't entirely about things legal, as
the post on Chesterton and cheese shows.
When I read that Tweet this morning I thought unto
myself (instantly going into poetic mode) that it would be fun to write a poem
on Cheese. Perhaps not, though Cheese as a word has the advantage of
having quite a few rhymes available to it, if you want to rhyme. Apart
from the obvious, there's frieze, knees, wheeze, sleaze, Chinese,
trustees, trapeze, Congolese, journalese, and chronic
obstructive pulmonary disease.
Before
setting to on my poem I thought I'd see what other people had written on the
subject, since I couldn't believe that Chesterton was entirely right on the
lack of cheese poetry. For starters, there was Chesterton's own effort -
in this case a piece of nonsense parodying a better-known
poem. It comes from another collection of essays, A
Miscellany of Men, and the essay is entitled The Poet and the
Cheese. (If you want to borrow this book from me, you'll have to wait
until I find out why it's not in its place on the shelves.)
SONNET
TO A STILTON CHEESE
Stilton, thou shouldst be living at
this hour
And so thou art. Nor losest grace thereby;
England has need of thee, and so have
I -
She is a Fen. Far as the eye can scour,
League after grassy league from
Lincoln tower
To Stilton in the fields, she is a
Fen.
Yet this high cheese, by choice of
fenland men,
Like a tall green volcano rose in
power.
Plain living and long drinking are no
more,
And pure religion reading 'Household
Words',
And sturdy manhood sitting still all
day
Shrink, like this cheese that
crumbles to its core;
While my digestion, like the House of
Lords,
The heaviest burdens on herself doth
lay.
You can read the complete
essay on The Literature Network, if you're of a mind.
There's actually a blog called The
poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese. It's only
marginally about Chesterton, and much more about cheese. (Note that the 'The'
has crept into their heading again.) The link I've just given you is to
the post on Chesterton and cheese, but there's also a post on poets writing on
cheese in which Chesterton's parody is joined by a tiny W H Auden poem, and
three other poets unknown to me. (I think they're local, like the cheese Chesterton
preferred. He was a locavore, according to Freeland.)
Marcia Vanderlip, in the Columbia Daily Tribune, wrote an article on
the very subject I'm discussing, but when she got the poets to write about
cheese, they wrote in prose.
The minor poet, John Armstrong, who lived in the 18th century,
wrote a poem on Cheshire cheese which contains a line that has been
immortalised on the Net as being one of the worst lines in poetry:
....that which Cestria sends,
tenacious paste of solid milk... Armstrong seemed prone to writing
heavy-duty poetry on difficult subjects - check out the brief Wikipedia entry
on him. And I don't know what Cestria means: although there are plenty of
places in the UK named after it.
There was a contemporary of
Chesterton's, James McIntyre,a Canadian poet who was willing to write poetry on
any subject his neighbours required, and he became known primarily as the
Cheese Poet, because he had a kind of predilection for poems on cheese. He
had one failing: he couldn't write very well. He still managed to publish
two books of poetry but his work passed out of favour until some of his poems
were anthologised in a 1997 publication called Very Bad Poetry. This included his
masterpiece and possibly best-known poem, Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
Weighing Over 7,000 Pounds. A brief sample:
We
have seen thee, Queen of Cheese,
Lying
quietly at your ease,
Gently
fanned by evening breeze;
Thy
fair form no flies dare seize.
All
gaily dressed, soon you'll go
To
the provincial show,
To
be admired by many a beau
In
the city of Toronto.
But even the best of authors (though
not necessarily men who were also the best of poets) have their low points.
For one last example, here's Arthur
Conan Doyle using cheese allegorically, and also a little
over-earnestly:
The
cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The
Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They
argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But
of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow.
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