Back from a job interview.
***
Ok, people, what is the freaking deal with gifts of bread to poets? I want to know. Tell me.
About Me
- Paul
- Paul Guest is the author of four volumes of poetry and a memoir. His debut, The Resurrection of the Body and the Ruin of the World, was awarded the 2002 New Issues Poetry Prize. His second collection, Notes for My Body Double, was awarded the 2006 Prairie Schooner Book Prize. His third collection, My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge, was published by Ecco Press/HarperCollins in 2008. His fourth collection, Because Everything Is Terrible, was published by Diode Editions. His poems have appeared in Harper's, The Paris Review, Poetry, Tin House, The Kenyon Review, and elsewhere. His memoir, One More Theory About Happiness, was published by Ecco in May 2010 and selected for the Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers Program. The recipient of a 2011 Guggenheim Fellowship and a 2007 Whiting Writers' Award, Guest lives in Charlottesville, Virginia.
8 comments:
Starving artists?
Harold was a member of a church that had a bread giveaway once a year. Even though it was a busy time of year for his heating and air conditioning business and he needed to be at the office, it was his turn to work the bread event and he felt he couldn't let his pastor down. He was on his way from the bread warehouse to the church with a load of bread when he saw a woman waiting for a bus. He thought, "Heck. May as well start giving the bread away right now. Why not?" He opened the passenger side window, said "Good morning!" and threw a loaf to her before the light changed. She managed to catch it but spilled her large cup of coffee on her skirt. He pulled away to the sound of her exclaiming "What the hell?!" "This could be fun," he thought as he grabbed another loaf from the back. "It's kinda like a cross between pitching, dodge ball, hot potato, and playing Santa!" He was so excited that he nearly ran over a man in a wheelchair, and thought,"No problem. I'll throw him some bread and all will be forgiven." Instead of throwing it, Harold stopped and tried to ask the guy if he'd like some raisin bread. He had stopped ahead of the chair so he had to yell. Then he noticed the man had turned down a side street. He considered pulling over and bringing him the bread but managed to stop himself, thinking, "Slow down. Slow down." He looked down at his hands and thought this was one of those times when his momma would surely grab him by the collar and say "Son mind your own business and get to the church." A horn blared behind him, waking him from his reverie. He closed the window and told himself to try to focus more, not be so distracted and enthusiastic about feeding the world.
I can't recall ever having received a gift of bread from a stranger. But when I was 16 & waitressing in an Italian restaurant in Vermont, Mama Valenti, the owner, did throw meatballs at me. One day across the kitchen for no freaking apparent reason she yelled, "Hey Lynnie! Here--have a meatball!" and chucked it at me. When she'd seen that I caught it she threw like 3 more in succession...so...there was bread in the meatballs...does that count?
-Lbehrendt
Blame him?
How was the job interview? Probably good, because I threatened Barbara Brickman with bodily harm if she didn't hire you. She wasn't really scared though. You've met her, so you know what I mean.
Maybe some people just have an uncanny knack for knowing which poets are in dire need of some carbohydrate.
Also, maybe it's a sign from the poetry gods that you'll be getting a sweet hookup with Bread Loaf sometime in the near future?
Last summer I was walking in my neighborhood and a vaguely familiar face offered me a very familiar greeting. So I greet him back and he says "We've met, you gave me a loaf of bread last year."
uh. I had forgotten. there was a bit of a pause and then I had a whispy memory of bird feeding near the river...
The stranger continues on his merry, remembering-me-for-my-bread- giving-generosity way.
my walking companion says, "Hey, are you Jesus?"
to which i said: "no, i was just bored of feeding birds."
I heard a bit about your threats, Nick, by a third party (or fourth or more) and appreciate them, but, yeah, Barbara seems like she'd be unfazed.
Me? Fazed. I'd be fazed. Awesomely fazed.
RE: Gifts
Maybe you are going to Breadloaf?
Maybe you need to leave a trail through the forest?
Maybe it's crumbs from the table of fiction?
Maybe it's some type of miracle? (I have received 7 loaves of bread since I started teaching, but unfortunately no fishes accompanied them and no multitudes at our poetry reading, either).
Beats the heck out of fruitcake, though.
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