For those of you planning to visit a bakery this weekend, this poem's for you. In Bread, Brendan Kennelly takes on the persona of an unexpected speaker to paint his picture of the baking process. Below you'll find a video of Kennelly explaining his choice in perspective and a reading of the poem itself. Enjoy and have a nice weekend!
Bread
Brendan Kennelly
Someone else cut off my head
In a golden field.
Now I am re-created.
By her fingers. This
Moulding is more delicate
Than a first kiss,
More deliberate than her own
Rising up
And lying down,
I am fine
As anything in
This legendary garden
Yet I am nothing till
She runs her fingers through me
And shapes me with her skill.
The form that I shall bear
Grows round and white
It seems to comfort her
Even as she slits my face
And stabs my chest.
Her feeling for perfection is
Absolute.
So I am glad to go through fire
And come out
Shaped like her dream.
In my way
I am all that can happen to men.
I came to life at her finger-ends.
I will go back into her again.
http://www.youtube.com/embed/3mfeSIlIS4s
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