WEBVTT

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Well, I'm going to
read some old poems,

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and then some poems that
are perhaps still aborning.

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This one is called "Saint
Francis and the Sow."

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Before I go on,
can you hear me OK?

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Should I lift this up,
is that better or worse?

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All right.

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"Saint Francis and the Sow."

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"The bud is the emblem
of all things, even

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of those things
that don't flower,

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because everything flowers
from within, of self-blessing.

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Though sometimes it's
necessary to reteach

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a thing its loveliness, to put a
hand on its brow of the flower,

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and retell it, in
words and in touch,

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it is lovely, until it
flowers again from within,

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of self-blessing.

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As Saint Francis put his
hand on the creased forehead

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of the sow, and
told her, in words

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and in touch, blessings
of earth on the sow.

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And the sow began remembering,
all down her thick length,

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from the earthen snout all
the way through the fodder

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and slops to the spiritual
curl of the tail,

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from the hard spininess
spiked out from the spine,

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down through the
great, breakable heart,

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to the sheer blue milken
dreaminess spurting

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and shuddering, from
the 14 teats into the 14

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mouths sucking and
blowing beneath them,

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the long, perfect
loveliness of sow."

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[APPLAUSE]

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