Coal Miners
A brother following his brother
a son following his father, nineteen men
enter into the kindred ebon of earth deeper
than night where a coal scuttle mauls legs,
a snapped cable pops an eye,
and rock dust lacerates and drowns lungs.
Science and technology automate perdition,
bring dull ivory solace of limestone
and cool them with gigantic electric fans.
When the whistle blows, a good forman is harder
to find than an angel. Self taught muscles
eloquent as a proverb, soothe hours
of mean and hard work. Nineteen thousand
dollars a year promises a marriage on Valentines Day,
a college education and a fancy mountain bike
when a tricycle seems like only a year ago.
Still you pay for what you get and
all the hot showers and lye in West Virginia
can’t wash the blackness out of their fingers,
even if the governor puts up his mansion
to pay the bills. Sorrow, pain and drudgery stain their skin
like blue people in the hollow forest of Kentucky
around Troublesome and Ball Creek.
Tears run clear as Deepwater.
A lover’s smile can light a candle
without a match.
In the next 48 hours, everyone will hold on
to these flickers like Christmas lights and ornaments
when the last of the pine trees are thrown out on sidewalks,
when with the misty lime of the morning sun
still ripening , the company’s pit with 208 citations
spews back the parking tickets in Hell, the explosion
of the odorless and colorless gas called greed.
Only six will escape the fire blast with roofs
and beams slipping like mercury.
Ignited coal dust swarm like fireflies.
The heat cauterizes the gaping mud
of blood and fear and broken ribs.
Only one of the thirteen left will be saved
and in the hours remaining
the thirteen cluster like children and birds.
In the flock behind the hung canvas between them
and the methane, they pass the cradled oxygen pack,
only one out of the five that works,
snatching and sharing air like diamonds
while a sledge hammer is also passed,
each taking turn to bang the mine bolts
until they can no longer stand or sit but drift
to sleep like sailboats without wind.
With the ember of their breath
they listen to the serrated darkness
cut into the gristle of their hopes
and remember in flashes the sum of their ages--
more than 5 centuries of memories
they swallow as they loosen their grips
while their heartbeats echo as one thunder
to awaken the one youngest who must survive.
It is this minute that will be longer
than a handle of a shovel, and everlasting
when the metal of the shovels touch their faces.
Coal Miners
rp
I have been trying all day to summarise what my thoughts are so here goes:
I would go for a less prosaic title.
I think the first half dozen lines draw the reader into the poem, they have good rhythm. My only quibble with them is that I think of a coal scuttle as a container that sits by the fire.
the rest of S1 I can see where you are going and it has some good phrases e.g.a good forman is harder/to find than an angel and Self taught muscles/eloquent as a proverb. My major point would be that there are too many ands and two adjectives for a noun e.g.
Science and technology
lacerates and drowns
mean and hard
college education and
Sorrow, pain and drudgery
gigantic electric
hot showers and lye
fancy mountain
Troublesome and Ball
Less is more I think.
Second stanza has the same problem with and but biggest problem it reads like a story - its crying out to be told like an old fashioned ballad. There's a challenge.
Final stanza is a return to a more poetic form. I think I might have ended with
It is this minute that will be longer
than a handle of a shovel
Hope there is something in these rambling thoughts
elphin
I have been trying all day to summarise what my thoughts are so here goes:
I would go for a less prosaic title.
I think the first half dozen lines draw the reader into the poem, they have good rhythm. My only quibble with them is that I think of a coal scuttle as a container that sits by the fire.
the rest of S1 I can see where you are going and it has some good phrases e.g.a good forman is harder/to find than an angel and Self taught muscles/eloquent as a proverb. My major point would be that there are too many ands and two adjectives for a noun e.g.
Science and technology
lacerates and drowns
mean and hard
college education and
Sorrow, pain and drudgery
gigantic electric
hot showers and lye
fancy mountain
Troublesome and Ball
Less is more I think.
Second stanza has the same problem with and but biggest problem it reads like a story - its crying out to be told like an old fashioned ballad. There's a challenge.
Final stanza is a return to a more poetic form. I think I might have ended with
It is this minute that will be longer
than a handle of a shovel
Hope there is something in these rambling thoughts
elphin
-
oranggunung
- Preponderant Poster
- Posts: 1393
- Joined: Tue Apr 10, 2007 9:15 pm
- Location: Dublin, Ireland
rp
This is about the tragedy at Sago, Western Virginia in January 2006.
As I remember the story, the press were giving it round-the-clock coverage in the US. I’m surprised there is no allusion to that aspect of the story.
However, on reflection, the narrative reads in a journalistic style, with statistics relating to various aspects of the story scattered throughout the three stanzas. Not sure if the style makes it too telly, but I find myself being manipulated, rather than following and exploring the story.
Confusingly, there are flashes of ‘flowery’ poetry (for poetry’s sake?) along with almost conversational excerpts. Compare
the kindred ebon of earth
with
Still you pay for what you get
The transitions didn’t feel smooth to me. I kept getting the feeling that you wanted to incorporate certain aspects of the event into the poem, and weren’t quite sure how to link them together.
than night where a coal scuttle mauls legs
I share Elphin’s interpretation of coal scuttle; I know it as an unusually shaped bucket holding coal, that sits by the fire.
In the next 48 hours, everyone will hold on
to these flickers like Christmas lights
Which flickers? The word ‘flicker’ reminds me of hope, yet the images from S1 have been predominantly bleak. This doesn’t feel like an appropriate introduction to S2. I think you mean that people will reflect on the lives of the trapped miners, but this little phrase tripped me as I was reading.
Only six will escape
Only one of the thirteen
The maths here doesn’t seem to work. Although the sentences are accurate, according to my extra-curricular reading, the links between them don’t explain why the totals are changing. Is it essential to focus on these numbers? This reminds me of the journalists again; slavering over the ghoulish statistics.
all the hot showers and lye in West Virginia
can’t wash the blackness out of their fingers,
even if the governor puts up his mansion
to pay the bills. Sorrow, pain and drudgery stain their skin
The governor line really doesn’t seem to fit here. You’re exploring a theme, drop out of it, and then pick it up again. Another bumpy ride for the reader.
while a sledge hammer is also passed,
each taking turn to bang the mine bolts
I’m sure there should be pathos here, but it passed me by.
For me, the construction of the poem feels tangible in the reading. That doesn’t serve to encourage involvement or empathy. I’m sorry if this story has personal relevance to you, but this rendition failed to touch me.
og
This is about the tragedy at Sago, Western Virginia in January 2006.
As I remember the story, the press were giving it round-the-clock coverage in the US. I’m surprised there is no allusion to that aspect of the story.
However, on reflection, the narrative reads in a journalistic style, with statistics relating to various aspects of the story scattered throughout the three stanzas. Not sure if the style makes it too telly, but I find myself being manipulated, rather than following and exploring the story.
Confusingly, there are flashes of ‘flowery’ poetry (for poetry’s sake?) along with almost conversational excerpts. Compare
the kindred ebon of earth
with
Still you pay for what you get
The transitions didn’t feel smooth to me. I kept getting the feeling that you wanted to incorporate certain aspects of the event into the poem, and weren’t quite sure how to link them together.
than night where a coal scuttle mauls legs
I share Elphin’s interpretation of coal scuttle; I know it as an unusually shaped bucket holding coal, that sits by the fire.
In the next 48 hours, everyone will hold on
to these flickers like Christmas lights
Which flickers? The word ‘flicker’ reminds me of hope, yet the images from S1 have been predominantly bleak. This doesn’t feel like an appropriate introduction to S2. I think you mean that people will reflect on the lives of the trapped miners, but this little phrase tripped me as I was reading.
Only six will escape
Only one of the thirteen
The maths here doesn’t seem to work. Although the sentences are accurate, according to my extra-curricular reading, the links between them don’t explain why the totals are changing. Is it essential to focus on these numbers? This reminds me of the journalists again; slavering over the ghoulish statistics.
all the hot showers and lye in West Virginia
can’t wash the blackness out of their fingers,
even if the governor puts up his mansion
to pay the bills. Sorrow, pain and drudgery stain their skin
The governor line really doesn’t seem to fit here. You’re exploring a theme, drop out of it, and then pick it up again. Another bumpy ride for the reader.
while a sledge hammer is also passed,
each taking turn to bang the mine bolts
I’m sure there should be pathos here, but it passed me by.
For me, the construction of the poem feels tangible in the reading. That doesn’t serve to encourage involvement or empathy. I’m sorry if this story has personal relevance to you, but this rendition failed to touch me.
og
Hi Elphin and Orannguntung,
Thanks, you two, for braving the cold to respond to well, let us just say, an effort. Back to the heart... that is to the drawing board. Or to the another pooom.
Yes Mr. Orannguntung, this cumbersome effort is specifically about Sago. Most of the info
was taken from my reading of the unfortunate disaster. Most of my concerns were for the people and their families. I did not want any way for a poem to exploit their circumstances. Perhaps it lead to the conflict between journalistic overtones and ballad like qualities. Most of your remarks are right on.
I need to put this... behind me, to get a better perspective if not... a music. Thank you once again.
Thanks, you two, for braving the cold to respond to well, let us just say, an effort. Back to the heart... that is to the drawing board. Or to the another pooom.
Yes Mr. Orannguntung, this cumbersome effort is specifically about Sago. Most of the info
was taken from my reading of the unfortunate disaster. Most of my concerns were for the people and their families. I did not want any way for a poem to exploit their circumstances. Perhaps it lead to the conflict between journalistic overtones and ballad like qualities. Most of your remarks are right on.
I need to put this... behind me, to get a better perspective if not... a music. Thank you once again.