Work (A Noun)

“And it’s spinning still. Changing shape. Becoming …”

What follows is a poem – not an extract from a dictionary.

 

Old English: weorc, werc, wurc, wirc, worc, work: that which distinguishes the human from other primates

Let us start at the beginning. Come closer
and we’ll focus on a detail: two hands,
rough with bitten-down nails but agile, strong,
striking one stone against another; knapping.
Step back and see the whole man, in skins, squatting,
a ring of small children, thin dogs and beyond –
on the brow of this hill – earthworks and huts
and barefooted people carrying, sifting.
He stands. He weighs one flint in his hand, frowning,
then swinging his arm high he sends that stone
arching through the air to the trees below.
And it’s spinning still. Changing shape. Becoming
            a knife, a pot, the wheel, the printing press,
            railways, nuclear fission and the rule of law.

© John Looker 2015

It is three years this month since Benison Books published The Human Hive, my first book, and in celebration I thought I’d post here the opening poem.

The book looks at life through work, in all its forms, down the ages and round the world (it costs about $5 or £3 through Amazon or in Britain can be borrowed through local libraries from the national Poetry Library).

I saw a striking poem yesterday on the theme of life and work. Called ‘Road Work’ it was posted by Burl Whitman and you can find it at: https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/4391895/posts/11265