407. STRIDOR
(I)
Just now the sound of iron on brick.
A neighbour is scraping moss from his patio
and whistling. It’s been raining all morning.
(II)
This old bench lost an arm. We fix it together,
though sometimes you don’t listen, and I have to say
do it like this, picking wood from the joints
that rotted last winter. Flakes soft as down,
soft as dandelion seed. The old pins pull out
creaking and we take up a piece of new timber,
laying out the lines where we’ll cut, according
to the old arm which we’ve set out like a bleached
bone on the table. I like working with you,
we can both see the shape of the future but
for now it’s enough to concentrate on this
and transfer curves where there should be curves
and angles likewise. The chisels bite and the saws rasp;
we make tenons and clean out the mortices, and slowly
the new piece is made. We glue it and leave it to set.
(III)
Children’s voices scratch the air, the schoolyard wakes,
it’s playtime again; the wild, the fierce, the unfriendly.
I remember sliding on ice and having a good long run
up to it, though the teachers hated the kids for really
everything was forbidden. We were slippery, though,
we scraped our shoes on snow, preparing to take off.
(IV)
Does a reversing car count, I wonder?
Down by the tennis court I listened to the sound
of the rain in the soil, of the soil drinking.
There was time for that. It was summer.
On winter nights the tawny owl shrieked in the fields.
There was time for that. It was winter.
(I)
Just now the sound of iron on brick.
A neighbour is scraping moss from his patio
and whistling. It’s been raining all morning.
(II)
This old bench lost an arm. We fix it together,
though sometimes you don’t listen, and I have to say
do it like this, picking wood from the joints
that rotted last winter. Flakes soft as down,
soft as dandelion seed. The old pins pull out
creaking and we take up a piece of new timber,
laying out the lines where we’ll cut, according
to the old arm which we’ve set out like a bleached
bone on the table. I like working with you,
we can both see the shape of the future but
for now it’s enough to concentrate on this
and transfer curves where there should be curves
and angles likewise. The chisels bite and the saws rasp;
we make tenons and clean out the mortices, and slowly
the new piece is made. We glue it and leave it to set.
(III)
Children’s voices scratch the air, the schoolyard wakes,
it’s playtime again; the wild, the fierce, the unfriendly.
I remember sliding on ice and having a good long run
up to it, though the teachers hated the kids for really
everything was forbidden. We were slippery, though,
we scraped our shoes on snow, preparing to take off.
(IV)
Does a reversing car count, I wonder?
Down by the tennis court I listened to the sound
of the rain in the soil, of the soil drinking.
There was time for that. It was summer.
On winter nights the tawny owl shrieked in the fields.
There was time for that. It was winter.
