Discussion in 'UK Wine Forum' started by Tom Cannavan, May 31, 2020.
Lack of blue tablets?
Sorry, I was confusing them with the garlics, or would that be an alliumnation?
The allium nation would be the Welsh
Batter my heart, three-corner'd Leek, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Fie, Eric, that's Donne it, unruly Sunne!
Are physicians grown gardeners by love
or per fretum febris?
Must we to azure Isle of Manne take thee
That thy bark, beaten off,
May salve the leek's tricorn infirmity?
I had no idea the forum had this unusual level of talent.
Sorry to interupt the vegetable verbiage but I was wondering if you could help me with a survey I'm carrying out....
Why are alliums from China called Welsh onions?
Eric ripped off but one Donne. I ripped off three.
One Donne, undone,
Exceedingly metaphysikal, Jeremy. I was raised on country pleasures, and will sit out tonight in the garden with my glass of Pilon Hermitage 2018 (a large touch more of apricot richness than last time, Jon & Mark), asking how such sweet and pleasant hours should be counted, save with herbs and flowers, yet Donne is often too deep for me. I prefer Captain Marvel.
A bit of pathetic fallacy never hurt a flea. May the luscious clusters of Pilon purple they nail.
When it comes to poetry, it has to be Hindemith, Kandinsky or wee Jimmy 'Jinky' Johnstone for me.
Orstralia – Orstralia
We think of you each day
Orstralia – Orstralia
At work or at play.
We think of yew in the morning
And in the evening too
We even wake up at mid-night
So that we can think of you.
Orstralia – Orstralia
We love you from the heart
The kidney, the Liver and the giblets,
And every other part.
What? And ignore Scotland's most remarkable poet, William Topaz McGonagall?
"It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed."
I can still recite all of "Scorflufus" by heart - absolutely brilliant. Do google it if you haven't seen it before - "it came from the east packed in bladders of yeast, so the Chinese must take half the blame." "Aye!Scorflufus had struck! At man, beast, and duck." Still cracks me up.
I do genuinely like all three mentioned in my post. Used to listen to a lot of Hindemith, Bartok, Schoenberg, Kodaly in my more avant garde days
Ode to Wine
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
as a golden sword,
as lascivious velvet,
and full of wonder,
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
you feed on mortal
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left
of your immutable soul.
stirs the spring, happiness
bursts through the earth like a plant,
and rocky cliffs,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me
in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher
add to the kiss of love its own.
My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.
But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
the community of man,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine.
Mark, no room in your heart for the rather more Orstralian Les Murray?
Apologies in advance for going back on topic...
Thread drift is usually benign and harmless but can be employed in subtle ways to derogate the initiator of the thread by casting doubt on the legitimacy of his subject material, or by going off topic as much as possible, in a similar way to how speakers in the House of Commons can get drowned out by the opposition benches. I witnessed - but did not instigate - a funny example recently when the initiator of the thread, who is notoriously thin-skinned, posted on his VE Day 1945 claret tasting, and the discussion quickly became dominated by a series of diatribes about fake wines, much to his chagrin, then about Parker points before and descending into a farcical discussion comparing notes about the disgraceful antics of some parents at kids’ soccer matches.
Bordeaux Wine Enthusiasts • View topic - Extraordinary tasting in Copenhagen - Bx 1945 vintage
Cor a vin?
Dulce et de Coravin
Pro Liber Pater mori
I’m surprised no one has suggested Alsace Pinot Gris yet
Separate names with a comma.