in the seventeenth
century
in the long shadow
of whips and witches hammers
a
metronome
beat, largo,
its weight
falling
as time
bled
out of us
into white bowls
sweet as sugar beet
and we carried the
time
to the mills
so that more might
be
made every day
more butter, more
guns, more books
until the clocks ran
dry
Terrific poem, Robert.
ReplyDeleteThat's really interesting, evoking the industrial revolution!
ReplyDeleteThanks Susan, Anna — really nice when the poem 'works'. I was thinking of the industrial revolution, the rise of capitalism, and the horrific history of western 'civilisation'.
ReplyDeleteWow. "..bled...into white bowls/
ReplyDeletesweet as sugar beet..."
these lines alone are perfect and bittersweet in their condensed condemnation of how the peasantry of the Midlands became factory fodder for the potteries, fresh blood for the Industrial Revolution. I lived near its birthplace (Telford, The Potteries and also the mills of Darby etc) and your poem evokes it all brilliantly for me. They are such pretty places now.
Startling
ReplyDelete