Tuesday, July 28, 2015

"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. 


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?

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