One of the joys of the last year for me has been Grayson Perry’s Art Club, and the phenomenal Philippa Perry who steals the show. This is the lino print that I submitted for this week’s programme about Food. Every Tuesday night for years we have gathered around this table with friends to eat together and share life. We have seen each other through relationship ups and downs, cancer treatment, lots of work angst and the sinking of a boat. Whatever we bring to the table, it can bear the load. It has been such a sadness to lose that space over the last year. The table is waiting until we can gather again.

This poem has inspired us over the years:

A man filled with the gladness of living
Put his keys on the table,
Put flowers in a copper bowl there.
He put his eggs and milk on the table.
He put there the light that came in through the window,
Sounds of a bicycle, sound of a spinning wheel.
The softness of bread and weather he put there.
On the table the man put
Things that happened in his mind.
What he wanted to do in life,
He put that there.
Those he loved, those he didn’t love,
The man put them on the table too.
Three times three make nine:
The man put nine on the table.
He was next to the window next to the sky;
He reached out and placed on the table endlessness.
So many days he had wanted to drink a beer!
He put on the table the pouring of that beer.
He placed there his sleep and his wakefulness;
His hunger and his fullness he placed there.

Now that’s what I call a table!
It didn’t complain at all about the load.
It wobbled once or twice, then stood firm.
The man kept piling things on.

from the Turkish of Edip Cansever, translated by Julia Clare Tillinghast and Richard Tillinghast

One thought on “The Table

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