United States, (1939-2012)
Sow’s Ear
- Here comes a lusty Wooer,
- My a Dildin my A Daldin,
- Here comes a lusty Wooer,
- Lilly bright and shine a’
- Fifty sows dozing in the hard-packed yard,
- fifty sows, all sizes, from purple majesty
- to pink ninny,
- fifty, sluttish, given to untidy houses,
- the open robe of morning, flea in the ear,
- snorting, swilling the hay-strewn water;
- some indifferent as the Sierra Madre
- steaming over deserts, features lost
- in foothills and ridges of fat;
- others petulant, bristling,
- practicing the small clean bite.
- The lean young boar, thick-necked,
- walks a plank from the truckbed,
- razor-backed, tufted, tusks rounded to ball-bearings,
- lord of the mountains, the hills of flesh,
- the little valleys spread before him.
- He is small, but the muscles of his neck
- can break a hound, or a man’s leg.
- First one, sullen, whitish-purple in the heat,
- stands off, pegs the dirt — mean hussy —
- grunts, Come show me, Bastard!
- Grunts, and grunts again.
- Though he doesn’t turn toward her, he sees her.
- Still, he waits for her waddling run,
- her little yellow teeth
- bared for the swipe at his haunch,
- swivels and knocks her off balance —
- blood pudding, sack of fat!
- Terror curdling from her throat, she
- telegraphs herself to a far corner,
- peg peg peg peg peg.
- The second, caught off guard,
- lies where she falls, croaking.
- But the third,
- mother of clouds and mountains,
- 400 pounds of mauve-and-pink repose,
- feels their cries stoke a fire in her bowels,
- a vein of lava creep from marble hams,
- through vesuvial lungs,
- to the flexing crab of her brain.
- Uncertainly, on one leg, then two,
- she jacks herself from the primal pool
- where gnats nidder and dance.
- The mud swings crusted on her teats,
- falls in patches from her belly:
- What are these that tickle the brain?
- Love’s tiny cries? The yammering mouths?
- Squeals that hang like sausages?
- No, not those tender attentions.
- Dimly, she remembers something
- unlocked from her, a trembling, a quake,
- an eruption,
- when once she opened and
- free from her hulk
- the delicate she of a dream
- danced like rain on a corrugated roof,
- pooled in cool wallows,
- sprouted under tender thistle,
- rolled in goldenrod and clover,
- frisked with the cat and suckling.
- Turning toward him like a locomotive
- on its turntable, the steam
- of her memories creasing all her jowls
- to one truculent smile, she charges:
- Oh to be the blue fly, the bee, golden,
- jigging above the ticklish purple!
- BANG
- Aye, this is the rub,
- the tickle of love! she snorts, enamored.
- BANG
- O honey bee, sweetling
- hungry for my attentions!
- Again she turns where the boar, dizzy
- and sore in the neck, stands baffled.
- Having assaulted with his head the Himalayas,
- having not gotten over the foothills,
- he staggers in disbelief
- as Everest trundles toward him.
- This is the one! Husband! she croons,
- full and resonant as a bullfrog,
- Sweet chop, my porker, my honey cob!
- O what a squall of pipers,
- what a regiment of bloodcurdling love
- dooms over the highlands of her corpus
- resounding from glen and hillside
- as she advances on him in a corner,
- stale and snuffed as Macbeth,
- head slung low as all the world marches on him,
- to meet the fate, perilous, magnificent,
- of fathering five-hundred friskers.
About the Poet:
Robert Siegel, Ph D. (1939-2012) was a U.S. poet, novelist and teacher. Siegel was the author of nine books of poetry and fiction. His books of poetry include: A Pentecost of Finches: New and Selected Poems, The Waters Under the Earth, The Beasts & The Elders, and In a Pig’s Eye. Siegel’s fiction includes the award winning Whalesong trilogy, which has been translated into several languages.
Siegel received his BA from Wheaton College, his MA in writing from Johns Hopkins University, and his Ph.D. in English literature from Harvard University studying under Robert Lowell. He received prizes and awards from Poetry, Prairie Schooner, America, and the National Endowment for the Arts, among others.
Siegel taught at Dartmouth, Princeton, and Goethe University in Frankfurt, and for twenty-three years at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, where he directed the graduate creative writing program and was then professor emeritus of English. In 2008, Siegel was the first Nick Barker Writer in Residence at Covenant College in Georgia. [DES-03/12]
Additional information:
- Robert Harold Siegel | 1939 – 2012 | Obituary
- A Pentecost of Finches: New and Selected Poems – Paraclete Press: publisher’s web page.