Poets a challenge for you: Say aloud the title above as written. Now do the same with Beer and Donuts For Dinner. Which has the more poetic “ring?”
If you said the title as posted, my vote is there as well because the rythm seems more natural: DOnuts and BEER (for) DINner compared with BEER and DOnuts (for) DINner which appears to conform better to the iambic beat whether it’s pentameter (which it isn’t) or variation (which it is).
Poets rarely and rightly seldom count beats and feet (two or more syllables comprising a single beat) in a poem title because it’s the POEM where rythm matters (or doesn’t). But as a poet and journalist, rythm matters to me most all the time. Not a big deal; it’s just part of who I am.
Also not a big deal to moi, one might surmise, is nutrition. Yes, I had donuts and beer for dinner toight . . . . and that’s okay. My diet is down to pass/fail; I no longer consider gradiensts of luxury or satisfaction. Fill the emptiness is what it’s all about. Thank God I have bread, Ramen noodles, lunchmeat, Hellman’s, Catalina Dressing, Peter Pan Crunchy and raspberry preserves for a solid week. Coffee and tea will take me into July. But that’s all I’ve permitted myself for the past few months . . . and that’s okay. Some nights I’ve not had that much, and I’ve been okay.
That explains my delight when I was offered the donuts left over from the neighborhood cleanup breakfast today. When I returned form the project, I had a donut and cup of coffee, and I was so tuckered out, I napped until 4.
When I arose, I wrote the earlier posting here at H&Q, mowed my front and back yards, finished trimming my main front shrub and thought about dinner. I knew I was NOT going to eat Ramen noodles, and I’m aproaching the point where I can’t look a jar of Peter Pan Crunchy in the eye, though it’s the best peanut butter I’ve tasted. I still had about 15 Mel-O-Cream donuts, four Old Milwaukee beers, and soon I had deiminished the donut count by six. No known connection by watching “Cops” on Fox TV made it all seem easier somehow.
After dinner I practiced guitar on my front porch for almost an hour, enjoying the quiet sky and fragrance of fresh-mown grass.
And I still have a beer left. I’m drinking iced tea now. I’m trying to kill time until my favorite dramatic TV show comes on: “da Vinci’s Inquest,” at midnight. I’ll do anything to stay awake until then; even post another blog entry. It’s been a terrific, productive day. Got a phone call from a former Springfieldian. He heard about the bad storm here and wanted to be sure I was okay. Friends like that: priceless. Dave Tabb is his name: great fellow, fine family, living in Indianapolis where the same weather that hit us did SERIOUS damage and injured some people. Springfield was lucky.
So am I.
Live long . . . . . . . . and proper.
