Clutter
A cluttered desk's,
a sign they say
of mind both clear and able
which makes me pause
and laugh because
I've lost my workshop table
For my Bee Keeper friend Chris, an Emily Dickinson gem:
The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.
From Leaves of Grass, Whitman's masterpiece, Song of Occupations:
A song for occupations!
In the labor of engines and trades and the labor of fields I find
the developments,
And find the eternal meanings.
Workmen and Workwomen!
Were all educations practical and ornamental well display'd out of
me, what would it amount to?
Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor, wise statesman,
what would it amount to?
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that satisfy you?
The learn'd, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual terms,
A man like me and never the usual terms.
Neither a servant nor a master I,
I take no sooner a large price than a small price, I will have my
own whoever enjoys me,
I will be even with you and you shall be even with me...
I've done a lot of research on the 19th century stone arch bridges that grace Washington County, MD, which besides being beautiful structures in large measure reflect the growth of this area and, by extension, the national trade routes that helped build this country. One such bridge is at Antietam National Battlefield, known today, of course, as "Burnside Bridge." I've spent a lot of time there, reflecting both on what happened at that place in 1863 and the origins of the bridge itself, which still stands, and wrote this song one morning sitting on the bank of Antietam Creek. Historical note: Freemason Silas Harry DID build lots of the bridges locally, but for accuracy sake, Burnside Bridge was built by John Weaver. I just found Mr. Harry more of a romantic figure and so took liberties.
Silas Harry
Where’d you learn to lay stone, Silas?
Where you learn to lay ‘er?
In greenest Scotland whence you came
From hills and fields so fair?
Are ya’ lonely for them hills and dales,
Are ya’ lonely for yer women?
When ya take yer break
Go soothe yer ache
In country creek go swimmin’
Silas what was it brought you here,
Was’t a dream you boys were chasin’?
Or chased were you, did you have to leave?
What trouble you were facin?
Don’t matter none if you had to run
Yer here now master mason
And the limestone’s cool
And the limekiln’s full
And the millrace water’s racin’
Three arches here, she’ll take a year
But I hear wagons comin’
And one day hence, beside this fence
Will soldiers come a runnin’
Your bridge will see
A massacree
But you don’t know that do ya?
right here and now
this bridge somehow
like water’s runnin through ya
Where’d you learn to lay stone, Silas?
Where you learn to lay ‘er?
In greenest Scotland whence you came
From hills and fields so fair?
Are ya’ lonely for them hills and dales,
Are ya’ lonely for yer women?
When ya take yer break
Go soothe yer ache
And strip them duds fer’swimmin’
Not exactly a work poem, but one of my all time favorites:
Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice
Ya knew this one was going to be in here...
I Hear America Singing
by Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe
and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off
work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing
as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the
morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,
or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young
fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
