"pauline learns to sew" by barbara presnell.

documentary poet barbara presnell visited the city of reading in april of 2014 and read from her book piece work at the t.e.a. factory on willow street. presnell found her way to our area after meeting berks county's third poet laureate, heather thomas, while the two women were appreciating literary arts outside of their own states. presnell lives in north carolina and wrote piece work about her memories and later employee interviews and research based around what was once known as stedman manufacturing company, a textile mill where her father worked during her childhood days. 

presnell teaches at the university of north carolina at charlotte.

thomas encouraged presnell to visit our county to share her book's poems because it paralleled so well with the textile mills which were a part of our own history and economy from what now seems like so long ago.

presnell's poem "pauline learns to sew" is something shared at every presentation about this project, at retirement homes, as well as at every poetry reading for this poetry project, as a way to introduce manufacturing poems from a different voice, one of great inspiration like the incredible poets who helped to influence everything you've seen on this blog and what will be posted in the future. copies of the poem are provided for everyone to to take home at the readings, too. but presnell focusing so specifically on manufacturing in her own part of north carolina really helped this berks county poetry project concept to blossom to life, so many thanks will always be sent her way heart-wise.

and enjoy the line about the chicken-- everyone in local audiences at presentations for this poetry project and actual poetry readings loves the humor it quickly nudges into the air.

the poem below is credited to barbara presnell and the cleveland university poetry center and is from piece work, published in 2007.

 ( barbara presnell )

credit: doug arthurs

pauline learns to sew

by barbara presnell

when i come back from having babies

they put me on sewing.

i could no more sew a straight line

than i could milk a chicken

but the other ladies helped me,

showed me how to set the needle

in the cloth to make a turn,

pull my thread to the side

so it wouldn’t jam up in the bobbin.

i won’t say i ever was much good at it,

but nobody’d accuse me a not trying.

a lifetime, it seems. husband,

three kids growed. mama passed.

went from t-shirts and boxers to

sweat shirts then collars then elastic.

one day, outta the blue, they unbolted

the machines, loaded them in trucks,

hauled ‘em down to mexico or someplace.

nothing left on second floor

but concrete and empty bolt holes.

we was like family, us sewers.

you’d a thought we lost a brother or sister,

the weight we felt, grief tangling up among us.

you’d find broke needles in corners

for a while after, lengths a thread.

ladies getting old by then just retired.

young ones, they got on

somewhere else in the mill, some

other machine. didn’t lose nobody from it,

not really. took our spirit, that’s all.

you can work a 8-hour shift without spirit,

but it ain’t half worth it, you know?

a glimpse: john heck, born 1921.

john heck of maidencreek township grew up on a farm in lower heidelberg township and helped to manage the land and the animals with his parents before he eventually found his way into a career of molding with metal. below is an excerpt from his poem in this project.

he enjoys singing these boots are made for walkin' when he sees someone reminding him of nancy sinatra, according to certain cowgirl-like footwear. he's fun like that.

*

a molder for 30 years, then a pourer for 11 more—i can

say i kept close to metal except on weekends, for most

of my life. at textile machine works in wyomissing, later

rockwell international, we wore leggings from our calves

down over our shoes so it would hurt less if the metal

splashed toward the ground and touched our skin. heavy 

glasses with shields on the sides protected our eyes. 

you got burned now and then. when sunlight shined 

through the windows, you could see dust in the air. 

we were known best for making the cast-iron knitting 

machines which eventually sewed length into women’s 

stockings. we heated that metal to 2,800 degrees,

leather gloves with cuffs covering our hands so we 

wouldn’t get the metal in our sleeves. one fellow, he

spilled hot cast-iron into his shoe. we didn’t see him 

again at the foundry until three months after that. they 

kept extra shirts around for when metal speckled flecks 

onto your chest. you ripped it off and grabbed another 

to wear. when seamless hosiery hit the market, it cost 

the company millions to buy and install new equipment 

for the changed design of machines. it took a year to do.

in the cafeteria, we sometimes ate steak and potatoes, 

a heap of string beans. it felt nice to get away from all

of that heat, all of that hot metal, for even a half-hour. 

*

"considering a field" by poet dr. philip terman.

dr. philip terman lives in northwestern pennsylvania and is an english professor at clarion university. as a major inspiration for this project as a person, poet, and fellow soul always making observations out in the world, it seemed a good fit to share a sample of his poetry. 

below is his poem from page 96 of the torah garden, a nature-swept, spirit-hugging set of words crafted in couplets. much gratitude goes to him for his encouragement and also letting this poem reach the audience for this poetry project.

considering a field

by philip terman

field of tall daisies, clover, buttercups, hay bales

waiting for the gathering, the occasional ground bird,

dried-out goldenrod stalks, and then nothing else

i could name, poor carrier of words that i am--

wouldn't you want to be an open field with butterflies

floating through you, an elevated field, a field

deer can float their watery shapes through, a field

where, if people gathered, they would be compelled

into silence, their thoughts would run their course

like a spring, they would speak only a few last words

and those word would be about beauty, they would measure

the surrounding trees and think seriously about how small

their bodies are, perhaps it would be mid-summer, perhaps

the breeze would chill then hush their skin, perhaps

they would be distracted and forget a little while where they were

and be indistinguishable from the daisies, the clover, the buttercups.

a poetry reading in leesport-- the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county.

the third poetry reading for this project on satudray, july 11 took on a pleasantly cozy approach where almost every single person in the audience offered comments and asked questions, often talking to each other across the table between readings of the poems. the schuylkill valley community library hosted it in an easy, sit-down, especially comfortable and welcoming space where chatting between poems worked out very well. everyone seemed to love that about the feel of the reading. and this connecting persuasion between people who are unfamiliar with each other, meeting suddenly in the moment, was a goal of the project. so seeing this felt like magic sparked by stories told in poem form, along with a great environment and a smaller crowd of 10 as the audience.

at each reading, a few poems by heather thomas and philip terman are shared to give examples of poetry outside of this project's sound, for those who aren't normally close to this realm of literature. it's a way to show how varied poems across different poets can be. plus, these two were great inspirations for the project and such encouraging souls for those who write, write, and write.

edna machemer's poem, recently posted to the blog, fit the reading well since she worked at a former factory which had been probably less than a mile or two from this exact library where we sat to enjoy the afternoon and mull over these poems in a small community-ish heart-hugging sense.

pat mckinney of schuylkill county had a great idea as someone in the audience and asked if any of the poems from the project so far had ever been read by anyone other than the poet. the answer: no, but that led to a great idea where he, as well as charlie curtis of berks county and ryan marie rettew of lancaster county read poems in the voices of the sources.

here are scenes of mckinney and rettew as they sat to test out reading poems from the project to everyone in the audience. all photographs after this point are courtesy of the ever-kind artist erica vinskie-cinelli who helped to put a camera to use during this poetry reading.

seniors who were a part of the poems from this project and lived not far from this library could not attend because of transportation and liability concerns from their retirement homes, which is understandable (although a little sad, but it makes sense), so here is a photograph by the poet from a few months ago of pauline phillips of maidencreek township, born in 1933. curtis read her poem, and below also is an excerpt.

*

the building went up in 1916 at 43 east noble street 

in shoemakersville, merit underwear company. i didn't 

like sewing. i used a sewing machine for around six 

months. i could hardly wait until they had another 

opening in the folding department. sewing, some may 

love it, but to me, it all felt horrible, and i just wanted

to get away from needle after needle and spools upon 

spools of thread. then, relief—i became a supervisor 

in the folding department, made sure the girls knew 

what to do, and they came to me anytime they couldn't 

figure out the folding just right or if a shirt didn't crease 

the way it was supposed to, if the examiner missed 

a mistake.

sometimes we'd spot a small patch of dirt on the fabric, 

fingers full of cleaning fluid in some moments. or we'd 

notice a seam open. we used a machine to tie heavy string

around the boxes where we folded freshly made underwear 

into new four-sided homes until the pairs found their way 

to stores. if you didn’t fold everything just right, it didn’t fit 

into those tiny boxes, and you had to do it again. toward 

the end, they had me in the cutting room, scissors in hand.

anna billig drove me to work 

until i learned to drive, and then 

i took

my dad’s 1933 plymouth, maybe 

a coupe. we all got along well, 

a few men and all of us girls.

now that place is apartments.

*

curtis also read through the book by philip terman which was passed around, the torah garden, but on his own.

it is a joy-stirring gift to notice people sitting pensively in appreciating what they hear of line after line of poems from the seniors who are helping this project to be possible. people who value history and the stories of those who are oldest around us come out of the woodwork and toss around gratitude and insights well when you're hoping for just that.

al haring of maxatawny township attended again, like he did at the first reading for this project, but this time he brought along his neighbor, don bucci, who introduced haring to the project. it is always great to have a poem-source there while his or her poem is read because that seems to be the audience's favorite aspect each time, as per comments afterward and notes on the handwritten surveys completed toward the end.

don and maryann neblock drove all the way from downingtown, chester county to be at this reading. they are enthusiastic supporters of this project, and it shows alone by the many miles they drove, as did mckinney.

thank you again so incredibly much to everyone who has been supportive and encouraging with this project, and especially to everyone who has beamed of caring gratitude just in hearing about it being a part of berks county.

a glimpse: edna machemer, born 1922.

what edna machemer recalls of maidencreek township from working in an underwear factory which used to be in leesport, very close to where the next poetry reading for this project is this saturday, july 11 @ 2 p.m. at the schuylkill valley community library, brings the most bountiful and genuine laughs, of all of the poems from this project so far. 

you'll find the humor trailing at the end of this excerpt from what she remembers into her early 90s. it's always nice to see that poetry can be comedic since not everyone expects that of it, and her talks of underwear lend to this beautifully. a single sentence of just eight words which she still shares again and again to make others around her smile involves of a female co-worker. it is classic to the extreme in berks county tongue.

for those who would like to attend the next poetry reading on saturday, the schuylkill valley community library's address is 1310 washington road, leesport, pa 19533, although a GPS will tell you to drive into a farm field. here are directions from the library staff on how to find the building successfully. if you can attend, please RSVP to thelaborsofourfingertips@yahoo.com or 610.401.3392.

*

graduating from high school in 1940, i started my job

at diener’s underwear mill in leesport within a week.

many single women worked there, using those wages

to support themselves and their children. the fabric

our fingertips grew to know lingered in bleach before

it met our grips. i started as a machine operator, but

soon, my title became trainer, matching my daily

routine for almost 40 years. piecework is torturous,

but i enjoyed training, especially when i had girls who

wanted to learn it. i taught them how to put the leg

band around the underwear. you didn’t have to dress

like a queen to go there, to work at those machines.

delicate lessons were a part of deciphering sections.

if you stretched it too much in a certain direction, it

would fall out of line. but some areas, they needed

pulling. see, you just had to know that—and where. 

my sisters, ethel and ruth, they worked with me, 

too. every now and then, we’d make a few orders

of long johns. a young woman from taiwan asked if

i’d teach her sister. she wanted her to move here. she

did, i showed her the ropes, and now, they’re my family.

but the best story i have is about my confirmation class

reunion at the lutheran church of the holy trinity. apple

street is where it sits, and i wrote verses of poems each

week, during construction, for the new church they raised

 skyward—but back to that reunion. one man stood up 

and said, i was in aeronautics. another man rose, 

told everyone, i was in electrical work. a woman

stood up, from my same mill, and said, i was in men’s

underwear for 40 years. it took her a few moments

until her blushing blossomed, and she realized how 

her words had sounded. we were already roaring shared 

clouds of laughter down the luncheon table over that.

*

studio b-- a great space for the second poetry reading for the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county.

the 21st of june marked a splendid turnout for the second poetry reading for the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county. almost all of the seats filled as 24 appreciative audience-folks at studio b in boyertown listened to the stories built into these poems, and four of the actual poem-sources shared their heart-words and memories with everyone as questions filtered toward them at the front of the room.

 ( all photographs of this poetry reading are courtesy 

of samantha waterman, a great supporter of this project )

linda steffy joined this reading as well, as she did the first. other new faces for the memory-sharing from poems from the project were the ever-hysterical winnie pitzonka, as well as alice gerhart and lester christman. pitzonka made her way through life with belts and suspenders. gerhart briefly knew her days as a cutter of vents for parachutes in world war ii. and christman kept close to caskets at the boyertown burial casket company for 40 years. below, you'll notice an excerpt from christman's poem, and you'll see pitzonka's and gerhart's further down the blogging road.

born in 1927, lester christman lives in bechtelsville borough in berks county. here is an excerpt from his poem crafted as a part of this project.

*

soldering, repairing, welding. on the fifth floor of boyertown

casket works, i labored with the boxes for those who stopped

breathing. on the top floor, the sixth, paint met each surface.

i learned my way around a casket in 1947, after the draft

and spending a year in germany and france.  at first, they

paid me 99 cents an hour, and in a month, they gave me 

a raise by one nickel. my aunt, uncle, and some cousins 

in the family worked at the factory, too. richard yoder

gave me papers he had typed up as records of this history, 

industry firsts—cast-iron caskets, plastic ones, full metal tops, 

plexiglas inner liners. eventually, they had me delivering 

the caskets to undertakers all around our region, across 

county lines. i became friends with those undertakers, 

something few can say. but i never dreamed they’d close 

that place, 40 years of working there built into my bones. 

a friend and i visited, cameras snapping scenes of the dim

demolition, watching brick break, crumble, falling of tallest 

walls, dust rising, sky expanding where one department after 

another had been. i have an album of these photographs,

the evolution of an industry leaving our town just

like the bodies for the caskets we created left living, left

life, and found new, quieter homes in the dirt, earth.

two careers later, the director of ott funeral home asked

if i would take a job picking up the dead from hospitals

and nursing homes. he’d known i delivered caskets

for years. so he hired me to bring bodies back,

an incidental full circle route for my days. babies

and children were the hardest on my eyes, where

i kept strong on the road for the integrity of knowing

someone had to do this work. i’d grown used to it 

with the older folks. i transported hundreds of bodies.

 * 

thank you to everyone who attended the reading to make it a wonderful sunday afternoon. and a gracious thank you to sammi mason for offering her skills with hair-curling for the poet !

( winnie pitzonka is possibly one of the best 

laughter enthusiasts in the bally borough. )

( winnie pitzonka eggs on kicks of laughter almost as though it's her job. )

( linda steffy and the infamous little timing device of her teenage years. )

( alice gerhart spoke not only of her brief time in cutting vents into 

parachutes but also about her many years as a local art teacher 

and even had one past student stand up in the audience to thank her 

and tell her what a wonderfully encouraging mentor she had been. )