The first poem in Nancy Willard’s collection of poetry, Carpenter of the Sun, (Liveright Press, New York, 1974) is called “How to Stuff a Pepper with Rice.” I love the whole of it, especially the surprise of the ending, the truth of it.

How to Stuff a Pepper with Rice


Now, said the cook, I will teach you
how to stuff a pepper with rice.

Take your pepper green, and gently,
for peppers are shy.  No matter which side
you approach, it's always the backside.
Perched on green buttocks, the pepper sleeps.
In its silk tights, it dreams
of somersaults and parsley,
of the days when the sexes were one.

Slash open the sleeve
as if you were cutting a paper lantern,
and enter a moon, spilled like a melon,
a fever of pearls,
a conversation of glaciers.
It is a temple built to the worship
of morning light.

I have sat under the great globe
of seeds on the roof of that chamber,
too dazzled to gather the taste I came for.
I have taken the pepper in hand,
smooth and blind, a runt in the rich
evolution of roses and ferns.
You say I have not yet taught you
to stuff a pepper?
Cooking takes time.

Next time we'll consider the rice.

Nancy Willard

I can recall reading this poem for the first time in the dingy communal kitchen of a falling-down house I rented with friends during my senior year in college. It remains one of my all-time favorites. Since then, I have enjoyed reading Nancy Willard (1936 to 2017). She has many collections of poetry and works for children, including A Visit to William Blake’s Inn: Poems for Innocent and Experienced Travelers, which won the Newberry Medal in 1982.

Some years ago, a friend sent me a pretty amazing book called Eat This Poem. I just love it. (Thank you, Beth!) Among all its delicious contents, however, I was surprised that it did not include Nancy Willard’s poem. This morning, I stumbled upon a blog that Nicole Gulotta has created around her hybrid celebration of poetry and cookery. Yep! It has Willard’s poem and a recipe for “Poblano Stuffed Peppers with Goat Cheese!” Life is good.

Context for My Poem, “Cookbooks”:

Until I moved to Northfield, I did not truly understand that neighbors could also become the dearest of friends. Within a few weeks of moving here, in April of 1996, we had been made to feel very welcome indeed. Then, at a gathering across the street for that first July 4th here, I met Raymonde who lives few houses away. The Noers have enriched our lives in countless ways, not the least of which have been many conversations about literature and life. And Raymonde is the stand-out culinary artist of my acquaintance. How lucky our family is to have had meals at her table and gifts of birthday cakes, and soups and pastry for no particular reason!

Over the weekend, we received an email from Raymonde, that she and Richard were giving away “all our books!” They were in bags, ready to donate to our massive annual town booksale, held each spring in the local ice arena. But would we like to look them over?

It was a form of cosmic joke on me, because I am sorting through books myself, a few each day, feeling liberated, too, by making the hard cuts. But it was a lovely interlude on a wet, grey April day, to be a guest in Raymonde’s kitchen, sipping her delicious coffee with cream, looking through titles, many of which were already on our shelves, but many were new to us. Tim left with six enticing selections, and later, after an hour of conversation, I carried off a further twenty. Together, we were given two baker’s dozens–largesse we shall pass on in time.

So, what did this passionate reader keep, primarily, from her large library–cookbooks! Though recipes are widely and generously available on line, there is something elemental and comforting about reading a recipe on the page, perhaps making notes, and revisiting it on occasion over the years.

I have learned so much from friends, mostly about how to make life sweeter.

Until tomorrow, wishing you a delicious day, LESLIE