Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BOB CRUIKSHANKS, by ALEXANDER ANDERSON Poet's Biography First Line: This is what bob cruikshanks said Last Line: As he leant against the driving-wheel. Alternate Author Name(s): Surfaceman Subject(s): Driving & Drivers; Railroads; Railways; Trains | ||||||||
THIS is what Bob Cruikshanks said, With a doubtful shake of the head, And an oily hand that began to feel Round the fringes of his beard so red, As he leant against the driving-wheel. "In the roar of the engine upon the rail, Which I dimly feel Underneath my heel, Lurks the music of that which I always fail To put into fitting words, though I hear The great song humming within my ear. "It begins when I start, and it follows on, It mingtes and finds A home in the winds, Who catch and toy with its rough, wild tone. It never ceases, for when we come To a stand it sinks to a softer hum. "And often when roaring and rushing along I can fancy I see That wild melody Resting on every spot like a throng Of tiny spirits that sing and shake With joy at the things that men will make. "When I lean myself over the side to watch The cranks, I know That somewhere below In the network of rods there is one to catch The music they make, which he sings again To the monster who lets me hold the rein. "I hear it wild and weird as we skim Along the bridge, Or close by the edge Of some chasm whose jaws open rugged and grim, As if to swallow the engine, if he Should prove false to the touch of the rail or me. "It roars in the tunnel, it gleams in the night, And with wild desire From the furnace fire Leaps sudden and swift with the column of light That shoots to the clouds in its frenzy to win Fresh food for the flame that is seething within. "It whirls with the smoke; it takes up to the air In the whistle that speaks Its stern watchword, and shrieks, As if half given over at times to despair; Nay, it even twines itself round the wheel Till the mighty rim staggers and seems to feel. "It waves from the mist looming up like a wall On each side as we peer To catch signals at clear; It flares from the head-light that swims like a ball Of wan, dim light, or the eye of a ghost, With its shadowy form in the darkness lost. "Is it the wailing spirit of steam Still following on, With a wild, drear moan, Its mighty first-born? or a voice from the dream Of the things that will be when the years display The wild results which we shape to-day? "It is something like this which I fancy I hear In the roar of the wheel Underneath my heel, As we dash through space in our wild career; But to put it into words, you see, Is the thing just now which is puzzling me." That was what Bob Cruikshanks said, With an oily hand that still would feel Round the fringes of his beard so red, While the other felt for a pipe which he Lit, with a shake of his head at me, As he leant against the driving-wheel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAILWAY by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON WHAT WE DID TO WHAT WE WERE by PHILIP LEVINE BURYING GROUND BY THE TIES by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH WAY-STATION by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH TWILIGHT TRAIN by EILEEN MYLES THE CAVEMAN ON THE TRAIN by JOHN FREDERICK NIMS CUDDLE DOON by ALEXANDER ANDERSON A SONG FOR MY FELLOWS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON A SONG OF LABOUR; DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-WORKERS WITH PICK AND SHOVEL by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |
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