the next poetry reading for this project is sunday, july 17 @ 1 p.m. at studio b at 39a east philadelphia avenue, boyertown, pa 19512.
this reading is limited to seating of 30, and 13 people are already signed up to attend. these readings in boyertown do often fill up quickly. so if you can and would like to attend, please RSVP as soon as possible to 610.401.3392 or thelaborsofourfingertips@yahoo.com.
leonard crowdell as well as dorothy and walter delong will be the poem-source guests for this particular reading.
below is a long excerpt of the poem about leonard crowdell's time spent close to gold toe socks and repairing the machines which sometimes broke down in making them. born in 1928, he relocated here from england in the 1960s for this new job and has lived in the boyertown borough for many decades.
*
crooked water in 1963—i noticed this in my drinking glass
on the RMS queen elizabeth as the captain announced our
invitation to glide to the side of the ship because lady liberty
with her quieted torch stood as that american symbol of what
touches the stretch of sea opposite my homeland—leicester,
england. the crew expected that ship to tip, tilt a little bit from
huddling onlookers reaching at its edge, gripping the rails,
their eyes fixated on her wordless promise in copper. my
father bought me a construction set in my days of boy-world,
when i used a toy crane to pick up cargo of railway carriages.
he made shoes and boots; mother cut the patterns of dresses.
once old enough to have my own job, i worked for the bentley
engineering company. how i digested the idea of moving
here on loan for great american knitting mills, inc. in bally—
apprehensively. but after 3 years, i told my boss i wouldn’t
be returning across that wide pond. my first day in the place,
a november morning, i toured the operation to examine those
broken machines i’d be repairing, and as we paced slow lanes
around the distinct lines of gold toes, we took in new history.
president kennedy had just felt the sudden song of a bullet
meeting the brain. but with three shifts of socks to fashion
and orders to fill, production pushed pitiless responsibility.
people still need something to wear each day on their feet
even after a president dies. before i arrived, machines were
always on the fritz. i took them apart, stripped them down
to all of their cold metal, showed the men every last detail
of how they functioned, what worn gears looked like, how
to replace parts. a knot in the yarn would bend the needle.
*
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