QUADRATINI CHOCOLAT HAZELNUT CHOCOLATE ENROBED WAFER COOKIES

 ENROBED!

Not coated, covered or dipped in but enrobed.  Synonym, neologism or archaic?

Off we go, and our first stop is MW Third Universal:

1:  to invest or adorn with or as if with a robe; broadly :  attire;

2:  to cover (confections) with a coating (as of chocolate) .

All synonyms refer to clothing or dressing, and the noun is one who dresses, an enrober.

 Dictionary.com

verb (used with object), Imageen·robed, en·rob·ing.

to dress; attire: The king was enrobed in velvet.

Origin

1585–95; en-1  + robe

Also from D.com, questions related:

Enrobing Food is when you are Coating one product with another” Chocolate is a popular one when you cover a biscuit, for instance.

An enrober, according to Wikipedia: machine used in the confectionery industry to coat a food item with a coating medium, typically chocolate.

Cambridge Academic Content Dictionary:

“We do not have an entry for enrobe.”

So, what is it?  Vanity?  Pretentiousness?  The wafer cookies are produced by the Loacker family on a mountain in Sicily, and perhaps they are royalty or wish to be so enrobed in the garment sense.

But wasn’t this entry about a word?  Mostly.  Entries about words (mostly) will appear as things of many things.

11/18/13

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DIRTY DATA

“A Salesman is an it that stinks”

-e.e. cummings

Mine is theirs, those details of my life,

All listed for whomever comes to take,

But who is that?

Counterfactual, dates and numbers wrong,

The whole of what I like so well obscured

That all who come to sell will have to fail

 

Imagine me in showrooms of your mind,

A customer who grins but never speaks,

And leaves you ponder what I’d buy.

So keep on with your pitches, feckless fools,

Stumble off to find a mind that works for you

To purchase what you peddle with a smile.

 

Brittle Star15OBOX3-articleInline

WHEN SYNAPSES SYNAP

Need I another MRI, what little brain I have,

A QWERTY keyboard with a clustering of cells,

All else displaced for better room to type, so,

What now do doctors hope to find?

 

Can scans reveal the poetry in cells,

Read within the record of a mind,

The details of what happened in a day

As possibly the current source of pain?

 

Can poems be read directly from the flesh,

In letters formed on cells to spell it out?

I hope for resolution, poems and line,

Scansion for a better-metered mind.

This poem was published in Newpoetry.Net,   It had been rejected by Compose Literary, The Blue Nib, and the Kenyon Review.

(Alber Camus)

albertcamus

EQUINOX

This cold brings home the grimy side of life,
By what it was I had or never knew,
Possessions against need or what was right,
What was my world left frozen through.

I think that every season has a switch,
To activate by equinox precise,
Then turning on the outlook which is which,
The setting now, the world is made of ice.

So yesterday, the heat was off all day,
Some seventeen degrees and how I felt,
How chasing dreams of skill came out this way—
But whose hand dealt the bad hand I was dealt?

Depression is a failure as a word:
Perhaps to say collapsing of a world

 

Polar babies VnD9FsJ.gif

This poem was published this past winter in NewPoetry.Net. Equinox had been rejected by Raintown Review, One: Journal of Arts and Letters, and Into the Void. (Note the Oxford comma.)

 

THIS AND THAT FOR JUNE 11TH 2018

Here’s another edition of my ersatz column. I’m working on compiling these more often.

First, presenting Seamus, a wolverine who outsmarted a team of scientists.

THIS WILY WOLVERINE THREW SCIENTISTS FOR A LOOP

By Martin Robards and Tom Glass, Wildlife Conservation Society

https://www.livescience.com/62768-wolverines-box-traps.html

“Because he was first caught on St. Patrick’s Day this year, we named him Seamus. After we collected data on Seamus and fitted him with a GPS tracking collar and a small ear tag, we released him back into the wintery landscape. Our team did not expect to see him again anytime soon; he’d just be a series of new dots on a computer screen each day. However, he circled around to another trap some 15 miles (24 kilometers) away and was caught again four days later, on March 21.”

Also,

“He had traveled great distances in order to enjoy a free meal from our box trap and, as a result, found himself caught in the name of science until we found and released him back into the wild.”

They caught and released him twice more, and after that fourth free meal and nap, they moved him twenty miles away. He hasn’t been found in a trap but was tracked by satellite with a lady Wolverine. They should collect his DNA. Other wolverines avoided the traps after their first capture.

Here’s Seamus

======================================================

From England, a fish story.

My Fun With News Humble Pineapple Edition  tells how a pineapple placed on a table at an Art Exhibition at Robert Gordon University for a joke was put in a case and treated as an exhibit.

Now, from another museum in Albion, the Hayward Gallery:

ROTTING FISH ART EXPLODES, CAUSES FIRE IN LONDON GALLERY

By Mindy Weisberger, Senior Writer

https://www.livescience.com/62732-rotting-fish-explosion-art-gallery.html?utm_source=notificationi 

The artwork in question was a rotting fish covered in sequins and put in a plastic bag.

“‘The installation — a piece called Majestic Splendor by Lee Bul — was part of an exhibition of the Korean artist’s work, scheduled to open at the Hayward Gallery on May 30. Then, hours before the show’s first preview, the gassy art blew up, causing a fire that damaged part of the gallery,’ Artnet News reported.”

Majestic Splendor was removed from MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) in 1997 when a refrigeration unit failed and it stunk up the place.

When the exhibit was moved to England, Potassium Permanganate was added to curb the scent. Unfortunately, PP is very reactive. When gases from decomposition hit the PP, the work of art went boom.

=================================================

Now, emojis

GRINNING OR NERVOUS FACE? PEOPLE INTERPRET EMOJIS DIFFERENTLY

By Rachael Rettner, Senior Writer

https://www.livescience.com/54390-emoji-interpretation.html

“The original set of 176 emojis, first developed for cellphones back in 1999, now has a place in the contemporary artistic canon — becoming part of the collection at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MOMA).”

But do you know what an emoji you’re looking at signifies or means?

“A new study finds that people often interpret emojis in different ways. For example, the researchers found that people who looked at the exact same emoji disagreed on whether the picture expressed a positive, neutral or negative feeling about a quarter of the time.”

The question is what you are seeing them on.  A study “showed that interpreting emojis could be particularly problematic when the sender and the receiver are using different mobile platforms (for example, when the sender has an iPhone, but the receiver has a Samsung phone). That’s because each platform has its own versions of emojis.”

So, I don’t know. I prefer words.

Here’s the MOMA emojis.

MOMA emojis

============================

That’s that for this This And That.

CANTO ONE BLAUSTEIN

And burgle any syllable I want

And then went down to the sea…

Stop that!

Enough!

Why are you fucking up a poem?

Set keel to breaker on your ass

And see how Pound is doing it again.

(Access-A-Ride)

I will not even think to make this rhyme

Or know what I am doing with this poem

Except that I am feeling lines to come

Perhaps from being stalled on Gunhill Road

Awaiting here two others for their ride.

I now am in the mumble state it’s Pound

Who’s forcing up contractions I can’t stop.

I now have time to poke about myself

Make mock of silly nonsense I support

But who can see the banners that I raise

For causes too ephemeral to fade

Surviving in the shadows of the day?

And ah, we had our dreams and crazy hope

Our picture of a world that couldn’t be

(The Bus)

A man with a terrarium got on

Opaque inside a massive plastic bag

(How I can take in all while on a bus)

Within the tank some lizard or a snake.

Are these content to live in glass

Content enough with water, stones and food?

As we, within that bubble of our times,

Those days when we were all that world and not.

 

I forgot what I’m needing for this poem

 

From Pound the Cantos this is mine.

Am I beyond the gondolas this year?

I sat on steps

While everything was all too much this year

And I am seeing rainfall now.

Clearer than solidly as air

The gods in air as Pound described

And of the dead

Who talked to soon-dead sailors through their blood

I number myself one from time to time

As wraith-like in my movements, less than real

 

I have no history as old as what Pound knew

So I can question my existence reading him

Since dawn to my waking brings no local light

See Canto four, gossip of an era long since gone

The people only Pound would know

I cannot rush the matter further on

Pesaro and Sigsmundo household names,

Ah, Sigsmundo, Malatesta Prado’s boy

A wealth of other once-knowns with the name

Canto thirty-six, my own unending me

I do not leave my likeness over where

 

Ezra, what can I say

What can I tell you now

A-stretcher and awaiting tests?

I think they think it is my brain

Would your Italians know now how to think

Of how in Hospitals are set

The contradicting facts of every life?

Your ancient Greeks say nothing of the time.

I don’t know what to tell you in your poem.

This is your poem, my pencil and my book,

My canto but I know this is still yours.

So Ezra, you should see me with the sick.

Walk now with me past stretcher beds and chairs

With fearful muted glance at all the ills,

So here we have a poetry of pain,

The rhythms of the doctors as they speak

From clinical to language of the day, with

Tones reflecting competence and calm.

 

These are not your greasy bastards so well done

The way you play with them through history and time,

A tale of gritty human sordid acts

And blundering through difference to the same,

I think we have to say this is insane.

Ezra Pound, I am not done with you,

In need of other cantos for the times

Your history through Chinese and the Dodge.

With what would your Venetians now contend,

The forms as not so different now as then?

You saw it in the thirties you lived through

Like every age of punish pain and death

Negotiated misery and want.

The few always atop are feeding well

On aspirations, dreams or stupid hopes

(I need your Cantos come complete

The ding an sich not excerpts broken down).

Explain to me the meaning of your rides

The ones you run through history, I mean

Your digging through the faintest most obscure.

 

Today a massive mammoth wait

At bus stop but at least the day is warm

And I can see the street where I was raised

I see how people look at others’ kids

And see in me an empty place they filled.

We have new words for newer things

So would you see the forms that you recall?

I do not know what happened in your head.

Ezra_Pound_2

Ezra Pound

THE POETRY TABLE: INVITATION

I currently have 186 followers from around the world, Europe, Asia, and Latin America, but I have no idea how many live here within the five boroughs of NYC. This post is an invitation to a group of poets who meet every week.

Meetups has a collection of groups with similar interests. The main Meetup page, https://www.meetup.com/about/ for more about Meetups.

About the Poetry Table group:
“Bring some copies of a poem that you wrote or someone you like (optional). Do not bring food or anything to drink. All members are required to buy something at this cafe. Everyone will read one poem and after we will spend 20 to 30 minutes of spontaneous writing which we will also read. There is no obligation to either write or read whatever a member may have written.”

So, if anyone is interested, reply and I’ll send the meeting address and times.
Hoping to see you there!

170px-Yeats1923

William Butler Yeats

(Not a member)