Levain Breads

The poet is not a “little god.” No, he is not a “little god.” He is not picked out by a mystical destiny in preference to those who follow other crafts and professions. I have often maintained that the best poet is he who prepares our daily bread: the nearest baker, who does not imagine himself to be a god. He does his majestic and unpretentious work of kneading the dough, consigning it to the oven, baking it in golden colors, and handing us our daily bread as a duty of fellowship. And if the poet succeeds in achieving this simple consciousness, this too will be transformed into an element in an immense activity … the handing over of mankind’s products: bread, truth, wine, dreams.

—Pablo Neruda, Nobel Address, 1971