The Well

3 Sep 2012

Richard Osmond

 

Sometimes I read Hopkins and think, ‘What did you make all that noise for?  It sounds like someone throwing hammers down a well.’

 

xxxxxxAs Adam, new made, in naming struck
his will against the green, native nature of things,
I hammered hard and happy, tapping the stuck
xxxxxxxxstiff rope-reel of the well
xxxxxxxxxxxxinto its proper sprocket, singing
xxxxxxxxxxxxthe while in concert, mechanic-
-al, with the crank, which, hit, knelled bell-
like, loud, until the mallet, sweaty, slipped and fell.

 

Foul metal rattle, clattering down
xxxxxxxinto hell’s bowels, clapper of sound
xxxuncontrolled and clanging, it
xxxxxxxrang as this song does, tumbling
xxxxon itself and by its noise all meaning numbing
xxxxI, slack workman, would
xxxxthat I’d a lesson learned of good
xxxxxxxxxxxxcraft and fit-
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxtempered tuning
xxxxxxxxxxxxfrom the anvil-branded
xxxxxxxpitch of Pythagoras’ tenet
xxx(any man who, walking by the blacksmiths, understands
xxxxxxthe high harmony of hammers held in hand,
xxxxxxxxxnot loosed and lost down wells, already knows it)
xxxxxbut alas, my tool is fallen beyond fetch of winch or bucket,
xxxxxI cannot reach. No more can I retract, as wrong, my rash allit-
xxxxxeration than Adam into Eden readmit.

 

 

 

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