Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POST OFFICE ETCHINGS: 6. INSTRUCTION, by AUSTIN PHILIPS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

POST OFFICE ETCHINGS: 6. INSTRUCTION, by                    
First Line: Midnight, and duty. Dully, I divide
Last Line: Taken and trapped ... And slave.
Subject(s): Duty; Postal Service; Postmen; Post Office; Mail; Mailmen


MIDNIGHT. And duty. Dully, I divide
(My colleague at my side,
Giving me, all the time, expert directions)
The 'rurals' into 'roads' for post pedestrian,
Or morning cart,
Or messenger equestrian:
Essaying, too, to dispart,
Within appointed sections,
Town letters, stacked there since the evening hour,
While, from behind us, come a set of four
Men, who deport
These, and subsort
Them skilfully into each postman's 'walk',
Mid filthy jest, foul talk.

Sudden, an odious odour stealthily steals
Abroad. My stomach feels
Sickened, revolted, fain to go disgorging.
I glance at Lapham. See him make presentment,
With writhen face,
Of wrath and fierce resentment,
And, full five minutes' space—
So far the blast goes surging!
Beastly, begot of onions blent with beer—
We draw to ten yards' distance, still too near!
Revolted, though
Amused, we go
Back to our 'boards' ... to find those four repeat,
Guffawing, their foul feat.

All o-oop! We seek the Staff retiring-room,
There, in its basement-gloom,
To escape those others: postmen, thus not sharing
Clerks' quarters. There my most kind coadjutor
And generous coach
Observes how ill I am faring,
Teaches me how to poach
Two eggs, and plays the tutor.
The food scarce-swallowed, on the cobbled road
Rattle approaching wheels 'neath letter'd load.
"The mail!" he cries,
And, as we rise,
The instant bell, obedient to a hand
Upstairs, brings crude command.

Our task it is to open every bag
The panting postmen drag
Into the place. Under my friend's tuition
I take my stand before a pitch-pine table,
Examine seal,
Find this impeccable,
And—e'er I essay to deal,
At proper expedition,
With 'registers' and find the 'letter-bill'—
Start, as I see the inverted orifice spill
Box after box,
Burst by the shocks
Of transit; show'r forth wedding-cake; while fleas
Eat me, at frolic ease.

Back at the 'boards' once more we take our stand,
With weary eye, worn hand,
What time those four behind begin devising
Questions, in crudest curiosity
About my home,
Searching what sumptuosity
We stage. Next follows some
Impudent catechising.
"How many maids?" "Three." "Ah, then, you must keep
A co-ook! Come, tell us, does your father sleep
With her?" As I,
Angered, reply
"No!" Someone shouts: "I should!" Whereat, from floor
To roof, riots a roar.

Slog, slog! Sort, sort! Repetitive, roll on
The hours, with respite none.
I ask and ask and ask without cessation,
Instruction comes with equal readiness:
Meanwhile my head
Whirls, and unsteadiness
Assumes my being. Bed
Becomes my silent, secret supplication.
Four o'clock strikes. Salvation! 'Tis the hour
Of freedom: the official end of our——
Or, rather, my—
Hades. But by
My side I see the Overseer set
More letters, postcards, yet.

Circulars, these. Headquarters' wiles and ways
Were evil in those days
Before the Staffs, collectively uprising,
And forming into faithful Federation,
Had strength, had pow'r
O'er noxious over-driving;
Parts of an hour,
(No matter what duration)
Such the Brahminical crime!
Were classed as 'unremunerate overtime'.
Thus I remain
Still on the chain:
Standing exhausted, eyes and intellect dim,
Aching in every limb.

Then comes, one fleeting second before five,
Command imperative,
"Go home!" Whereon my colleague, comminatory,
Although by Nature born no murmurer,
Glares in disgust
At our retreating, turnkey torturer,
The hateful, the unjust ...
While I, too worn to fashion fulminatory
Phrase, take farewell and make my dull, dazed way
Towards the strong sunlight of September day:
Nerve-wracked and numb,
To seek my room,
Holding myself half nidering, half knave,
Taken and trapped ... and slave.





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