To give you a taste of what's inside, I've chosen one poem that just happens to be about food, along with what Harvey writes about why he chose it.
“When I was young a trip to town (Christchurch) by Pop or Mum usually resulted in a packet of butcher’s saveloys. In a regular diet of home-killed mutton, they were a colourful treat. Anne can’t believe that I still like them. Tasteless things, she says. Elizabeth will probably be horrified at my selection of this poem out of her ample array, but like her, for childhood’s sake, I still enjoy my saveloy.”
Saveloy
Elizabeth Smither
Why should one long for something
supposedly composed of sawdust
or sweepings and bulked up with
excessive breadcrumbs? Coloured
like a tart’s lips and typically
when the water in the pot comes to boil
steeping out of her underthings
or worse, looking like a condom?
And yet, sometimes passing the butcher’s
I compose a worthy list: eye fillet
and a nice beef roast (special visitors)
and just casually, like childhood, a saveloy.
For information about Harvey's book, email info@steeleroberts.co.nz
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3 comments:
Oh I love that Anne. I may have to type it up and stick it on my kitchen wall, perhaps over the gap where corpse of a switch to something unknown was recently removed.
I looked down upon saveloys as a teenager, much to the amusement of my Dad. He is tactfully silent now as I pull them out to feed my own children with great relief over their popularity and ease of prep. Fantastic food for after a rugby league game (under eights!).
I'm very happy for you and Harvey, Anne! This is great. Also enjoyed reading "Love is" on Beattie's Book Blog. :)
Like a tart's lips! Love it.
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