Fall 1992 • Vol. XIV No. 4 Poetry |

Pourriture Noble

a moral tale, for: Sauternes, the fungus cenaria, and the wild old Never prophesy. You can't. So don't try. Lust, pride, and lethargy may cause us misery or bliss. The meanest mistake has a point to make. Hear this—what the vintner d'Eyquem said once his lord d'Eyquem was dead:   "The wine that year promised bad or none.   He'd let it go too late.  Rot had crawled through all the vines,   greasy scum on every cluster   dangling at the crotches of the leaves.   Should have been long picked   but he'd said, "No. Wait for me,"   off to wait on a new woman,   grapes on the verge of ripe   when he left. Coupling kept him   till rot wrapped the grapes like lace   & by the time she'd kicked him out   the sun had got them, they hung   shriveled in the blast.   Well he rode home cocky   & bullied the grapes into the vats   rot & all, spoiled grapes, too old,   too soon squeezed dry.     

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All Wet

By Marie Ponsot

a moral tale, for: Sauternes, the fungus cenaria, and the wild old Never prophesy. You can't. So don't try. Lust, pride, and lethargy may cause us misery or bliss. The […]

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