Day 185...and a random young man walking by is now reading The Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie, to see whether there is really something in it that provoked the death threats. I told him about when my niece was photographed with Rushdie, when he visited her college. The photo gave him red eyes, so he did look remarkably satanic.And I am allowing myself one poem a day from What Feeds Us, by Diane Lockward, an indulgence like a fine chocolate. The first was the title poem, "What Feeds Us," and I can already tell the book will break my heart and make me smile; also, that I've found a kindred spirit, as I, too, have written a poem ending with a woman knowing she needs to eat.
Likewise, with "The First Artichoke," the second poem in Lockward's book. I remember my first artichoke, eaten as a kind of research, as well as a pleasure, with my friend and fellow actress, Lorel Janiszewski. I was directing her, I think in the Organic Theatre, in a one-woman play she had written called Art-I-Choke. She is brilliant, so it was funny and pithy and poignant somehow all at once. And surely she prepared the artichoke we ate in her kitchen.
A stage manager would have prepared the artichoke she ate onstage. Right, Lorel? Nobody would have trusted me with that....
