This Cheese Poem Stands Alone

Over at ChesterTeens, Old Fashioned Liberal has penned a poetic ode to the glories of cheese.

A man (woman?) after my own cholesterol-caked heart.

I once - seriously, now - attempted to commission a fairly well-known (that is, as well known as a poet can be, nowadays) and genuinely gifted poet to set down a few rhyming verses about cheese, but failed. It turned out that cheese was a luxury he could only remember fondly, as it played hell with his digestion, and he could no longer enjoy it without dire consequences.

I later came to fear that my request might have stirred up some painful dairy-related memories, and may even have thrown him off writing anything at all for a day or so. Poets are sensitive.

And so, I very nearly became somewhat misty-eyed when I stumbled on a poem dedicated to the subtle glories of the curd, for as Chesterton has observed, "The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese".

I take off my hat to Old Fashioned Liberal for making such a valiant effort to right this terrible wrong.

In my exhaustive research for this post, I also discovered a quotation from Robert Frost that applies equally well to artists and poets;

"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession."

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