The Hungry Poet: My Life in Food — In Praise of Parmesan (POEM)

Read an exclusive poem from Andrew Jamison's third collection of poetry, Swans We Cannot See, and buy a signed copy here.

In Praise of Parmesan

The cheesemakers of Parmigiano Reggiano

employ a special silver hammer

to tap, precisely, each straw-coloured wheel

with a rat-a-tat-tat,

beat the bottom, the top, the sides,

testing in totality its tones, its tune,

to locate, listen out

for any imperfections,

decipher if it’s ready,

to gauge its age,

adjudicate whether

this one passes muster . . .

What are they listening for,

their trained ear to the rind, I wonder:

the shuffling and huffing

of cows through fields near Modena,

a sweet relieving breeze

unsettling a tree outside Bologna,

first milk of the morning

striking a steel bucket at Mantua,

sunlight and rain

as they grow the grass round Parma?

Can they detect the farmer’s breath, their sweat

peppering boots by Reggio Emilia —

pick up anxiety about the weather,

year ahead, livelihood, family —

or is it the sound that time makes,

the reverberation of passion,

the culmination of hope, belief,

of something cared for made by hand?