The late Stanley Finkleter’s verse has been described as “cumbersome” for more than one reason. Here is the second.
Melon vine, melon vine
Milk of sweet cucumber wine
Cultivate me, bathe my eyes
Rinse out the nightly
Tide of brine
Cumber me, oh cumber me
In anti-inflammatory sea
Sperm of genus Cucumis
Abate the swelling
Bourgeoisie
Floury bap, soft white loaf
Ambassadors to navel growth
Mattress of bland cylinders
Be balk’d in blood
Of England’s sloth!
Gherkins green and without number
Be humbled by the brave cucumber
Butcher sleep with cooling balm
And throw the bodies
In the Humber
-Stanley Finkleter (1932-2004)
August 4, 2004
Afternoon Tea
The cumbersomeness of this poem is truly astounding.
Yes, I thought it was one of Finkleter’s erotic verses. Then I thought it was about Irish Republicanism. After a while of thinking that apathy was old Stan’s theme, I came to the conclusion that it was in fact about cucumbers. And all of the above.
Now I want the ode to killing the evil cucurbit detroying beetle that has decimated all of my glorious cucumbers and cantaloupes. bastards!
I’ll see if I can find one…