Red Canyon Petroglyph, Same as Previous
Tools
The hammer head is nicked and scarred,
its beveled peen rounding past my father’s initials.
Nearby, my grandfather’s Model A wrench,
crude by today’s standards.
Both hang on my garage wall, waiting
to ease some necessary hand work.
The stores of labor were carried by the poor
and indentured of this family
like the dreams of a little land,
time to go fishing, ownership and choice.
Twelve to fourteen hour days
in fields and on rooftops,
backs and legs heaving timbers into place,
sweat equity in desire.
I use the hammer to drive bean stakes
in the garden that the bank and I own.
__________
Gary Lark
Review by Massimo Fantuzzi
History scrapes the bottom
like a trawl net
with a few yanks and more than one fish escapes.
History is not then
the devastating bulldozer that they say.
It leaves underpasses, crypts, potholes
and hiding places – there are those who survive.
(from E. Montale, La storia.)
Lots of objects, simulacra, and Horcruxes in this issue – probably a sign of the time, we’ll leave the shrinks to draw their own conclusions. Here, the old tools, the old craftsmanship, the medium for principles, heritage and aspirations. Time is passing, corroding standards and objectives, muddying the waters. The baseline against which we measure our history is shifting under our feet, the benchmark is becoming unclear. Although we sometimes may be forced to meander and breathe the stuffy atmosphere of the past, we cannot afford to fall into melancholy. We move here with a lucid sense of loss, and this poem does so well in keeping any sentimental refrain at bay. Relics are offered a second life and that is the lesson and the beauty of it. Indeed, there’s no time for nostalgia: timely as a mortgage payment, the new season is upon us and new shoots need our support.