a poetry reading at studio b on sunday, october 8 at 1 p.m. to introduce volume three officially.

studio b in boyertown is hosting a poetry reading for this project and its final book's release.

the poetry reading is set for sunday, october 8 at 1 p.m., and studio b's address is 39a east philadelphia avenue, boyertown, pa 19512. it is near the long-lived grill shop (which is in a poem this year, by the way) and neighbors with spirit holistic center, the local united way office, modellbahn ott hobbies, inc., and the peppermint stick candy store.

please send your RSVPs to thelaborsofourfingertips at yahoo dot com. invite friends and the famfam, if you like. we'll have some refreshments, too.
 
the bulk of copies of volume three will be available for purchase by the time this poetry reading rolls on around.

betty seifrit (she wasn't able to attend during a july poetry reading) and tom mauger will be special featured guests from the third and final volume in this project, as will gary and doris williams. the opportunity to ask the poem-sources questions about their lives after their poems are read is the always-there perk of these events so that you can learn more about them through genuine connections in conversation.

here are eye-scenes of them and a teaser poem about one of them, in the order in which they were mentioned above.

 *

gary williams, rockland township | born: 1948

sam hartline told me, you’re a natural at welding, once he

trained me but acted like i hardly needed the lessons. walter

delong had shown me the heat-firing ropes any time a free

minute or two cropped into our shifts at boyertown auto

body works. before sam’s nodding of final approval, i only

assembled the trucks, starting maybe in the late 1960s or

early 1970s. when contracts were slow to absorb inked

signatures in agreement, they laid me off, so reading

truck body hired me to work on dual-wheeled utility

vehicles. they paid more, but my heart functioned its

best back in boyertown. i welded shelves on the trucks,

crafted the sides of those dual-wheels from scratch.

when boyertown auto body works had some openings

again, i returned. in winter, sometimes walter and i

stole a few moments to throw snow into a cardboard

box outside of building 11. we were up on the balcony,

a perfect location for aiming snowballs down at guys

below, a way to add a laugh or two into a morning.

welding—with it, i felt like i accomplished more than

just putting in rivets and screws as an assembler. few

men there could fashion aluminum just right, its soft

and difficult tendencies always swimming easily close

to failure, botched jobs, but the flame, the sparks and

i got along well enough. stainless or galvanized steel,

too. i’m pretty sure i once glimpsed one of our emblems

on a box truck in a dirty harry movie, maybe magnum

force from 1973. to think our work made it to california,

that what we touched traveled so far and made it onto

the big screen—i like that memory, that little reminder,

to know what we did started in a small town, reached

so far beyond pennsylvania, beyond the blasting flashes

of what the steadied control of my arms made happen.

two bettys walk into a historical society poetry reading.

i've been loving the "two bettys walk into a bar" phrasing for the past week or two, although i had to more accurately twist it into a different venue and kind of hangout, a historical society poetry reading.

betty kunkel and betty yeager are these specific betty-types. in my second and third volumes of this poetry project, respectively, with betty kunkel also in betty yeager's poem, i delighted in the minutes of time spent with them during a program where i read their knitting milll job memories out loud for the hamburg area historical society at the hamburg area high school last thursday evening.

and a third betty joined these two in walking into the building, which i loved. "yodeling betty" naftzinger is not in my books and project on manufacturing history of berks county. but i don't know how often you can say you have three bettys walking into a doorway at once. here are the three bettys: naftzinger, kunkel, and yeager.

and the two bettys in my project drove to the wrong entrance of the school, as did i. since they have some struggles walking but do pretty well for their age, i walked back to get my car and acted as their chauffeur before and after the reading. and i loved that. 

in the early minutes of the reading, we heard a loud, awkward tech-y sound in the hallway outside of where we were. i said into the microphone that it sounded like an electrical fart. the crowd whirled into a good roar of laughter for a while. i told everyone that poetry builds you to be more in tune with how to describe things you notice in the world.

 

betty yeager commented during the reading that she gave brian riegel (he kindly took the photos here) of the historical society his lunch in his school days when she worked in the high school cafeteria, but she said he didn't have whiskers below his chin then. she's pretty good at incidental comedy. this was one of her jobs after her knitting mill days shared with betty kunkel.

and one woman in the audience raised her hand to let me know her mother had been in my first book, irene schappell. at the time, she'd been 98 going on 99. she said irene died a few months ago, at 100. i was so grateful that she spoke out and shared this news. irene struggled with hearing and memory yet had a wonderful and witty personality. here is irene's obituary which i just discovered.

by the end, outside, the moon perched low in the sky, bigger-seeming (it's technically the moon illusion), and it looked like a rounded chunk of muenster cheese. they gazed at it above hamburg's hills a bit before getting into betty yeager's car to head home. i told them that these moments were a poem.

hamburg area historical society—a poetry reading: thursday, september 7 at 7 p.m.

the hamburg area historical society is hosting a poetry reading for the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history of berks county as a program for its members and the public on thursday, september 7 at 7 p.m. in the community room of hamburg area high school at 701 windsor street, hamburg, pa 19526.

hamburg's own betty kunkel from the second volume of poetry in this project will be the special featured guest for the evening. audience members will have the opportunity to meet betty and ask her questions about her memories in her former knitting mill jobs in hamburg. she is also mentioned in the poem of betty yeager in the upcoming third and final volume of poetry for this project, as a unique tie-in for her across 2016 and 2017 work in this community effort of preserving memories of seniors through interviews and poems crafted from this local history-hugging.

EDIT: on the eve of this event, i just heard word that betty yeager will be at this poetry reading as well and that the two bettys will be carpooling together. so it'll be an even more worthwhile event.

(below is betty kunkel, and pictured second is betty yeager)

 

here is betty yeager's poem, since betty kunkel will be a part of this poetry reading to share her conversational reflections about her time paralleled with a friend and co-worker of the same first name. (i keep finding myself wanting to say, two bettys walk into a knitting mill...oh spins on jokes.)

* 

betty yeager, hamburg borough | born: 1933

i picked up my man at the church picnic. they had put me

in charge of soda bottles at zion moselem lutheran church

that warm afternoon, so many lines of seasoned gravestones

behind us as we shared our smiles back and forth, savored

sunshine, any sudden breezes from wind and forest, specific

to the old dirt of earth in richmond township. william yeager

and his friend, john setzler, they were thirsty. initial flirting

began by the time william took a sip or a few, maybe a crisp

cola. after we married in 1951 or 1952, he became a truck

driver for burkey underwear company in hamburg, often

making trips to and from their warehouse down the road.

i had a job there, too, put binding on the top of the flatlock

seams on the crotch sections of what men wear under their 

slacks or to sleep when our world switches on its quiet signal

for restful silence. some say, the barn door’s open, a way

to snicker about the region i sewed. i trimmed the straps off

in this anatomy of the front, delicately deliberate motions

with my scissors. sometimes we ventured to the hamburg

diner on state street on a friday around lunchtime. a creek

runs behind our old mill. it’s still there. you didn’t have

time to joke on the clock. you had to get your work done.

another betty—betty kunkel, worked there, too. i’d seen her

at church in our girlhood days, always in vibrantly-patterned

dresses, hand-sewn by her mother, from old feed bags, some

of them flowered, others checkered. on saturday nights, her

parents took  her to zern’s farmers’ market to buy young

plants to raise on their land, that drive about an hour long.

a poetry reading with berks bards as a third and final anniversary in august.

as a semi-introduction to the weekend, i shared poems from my third and final upcoming book of poems on manufacturing history of berks county at goggleworks in the city of reading at the first thursday poetry event hosted by berks bards, before its community open mic this august.

in 2015 and 2016, berks bards invited me to share poems from volumes one and two of the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history of berks county. so a third and final time in 2017 for the next and last book in this project made for a nice way to move into august. volume three will be out in late september.

oliver carter joined us as my special guest for the evening. i knew he'd have some great details to share from his jobs from before he retired. he answered the audience's questions about memories in his poem and some outside of it, from the main interview which helped to shape these lines. the poem crafted from his recollections is below, followed by scenes from the community open mic.

*

oliver carter, shillington borough | born: 1939

as a boy, i’d grown used to that hard hum, the rumbling

resonance of the railroad—in our house near seventh and

cherry streets. once we moved away, i had trouble sleeping

at night, those sounds, that vibrational pulsation missing.

back then, i can remember at least six movie houses along

penn street, one along fifth street in the city of reading,

a whole different spine to the downtown buzz and blur

of life, now history. i cooked meals through szabo food 

service, inc. for western electric for a few years. then

two months after my wedding, the military changed

the rules, said married men could forgo the draft. but

they already had me in their ranks—trained in the u.s.

army in fort jackson in georgia. i taught men exactly how

to operate combustion and diesel engines on missile sites

in fort belvoir, virginia, served as second in command 

in managing electricity at a power station by north star 

bay in thule, greenland. by 1965, i came home, took

a job at polymer plastics, extruded that material. ford

motor company gave us a fairlane model, challenging 

us to see what components we could redesign in plastic

for lighter weight in a single car, cheaper cost—bolts,

tubing, gas tanks. i left there for cartech, its buildings

along a bend in the oldest water around, the schuylkill 

river. i went from laborer—in the melt shop, hot mills,

rolling mill, annealing—to foreman, then supervisor

of the wire drawing department, after early days spent

extruding coils and rods, not cutting them but reducing

their size by stretching them through a custom die. once

i managed people, decided who would get what job each

day across the latest project, i understood how delicate

and complex it is to attempt to distribute work evenly,

to do a job well without racism dripping through some

complaints, guys taking orders from a man whose skin

isn’t quite like that of their own majority. yet most knew 

we were all just working to get through our days, put food

on our tables at home, hoping to have the energy to love

our kids, wives—in between overtime, slumber in blankets.

a poetry reading at studio b this july to introduce the third & final book of poems in this project.

last weekend, i hosted the first poetry reading of 2017 to introduce the newest poems in this project in the third and final book which is in the works for the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county.

studio b's hardworking volunteers kindly served to offer this venue rental in the community, and it is always a wonderful place for poetry readings and bringing people together who aren't normally into poetry but do want to hear the stories written in these recollections from interviews. it's also then a nice way to expose people to less common lines of poetry through local history and documenting the lives of seniors in our area.

betty sefrit who worked at boyertown auto body works wasn't able to make it as planned but hopes to be at the next poetry reading at studio b on sunday, october 8 at 1 p.m.

betty's co-worker ernie haas, however, was able to attend and brought along some neat old black and white pictures as well as a magazine where boyertown auto body works was featured.

and richard and mary-frances haas joined the afternoon in talking about their work at bally ribbon mills as well as great american knitting mills, inc., which was the home to the gold toe sock factory.

walter delong, from my second volume in this project, also chimed in from the audience sometimes in relating his work with others at boyertown auto body works, as did leonard crowdell who worked with mary-frances after moving here from england in the 1960s to fix knitting machines.

and walter makes a second appearance in the upcoming volume three also, through another poem-source's memories, but that glimmer will be shared sometime a bit more into the future.

here are some eye-scenes from the poetry readings, thanks to laura kline's camera efforts. and a long excerpt from one of the special featured guests is included.

*

mary-frances koch, washington  township | born: 1941

rudi abrams told me, you aren’t meant for the factory—you 

are meant to work in the office, after i did trimming of gold

toe socks for great american knitting mills, inc. in bally. i

started in customer service but had a belly with a baby in it

by 1963, another child at home for richard and me. when

i returned in 1966, plant floor jobs were all they had, but rudi

brought me into production and inventory clerk work in 1967.

he came here from germany, ran the plant, made this place 

his home by 1923. our 75th anniversary booklet showcases

one page from his technical journal from his study of textiles

at the university of stuttgart, his german-jewish words spelled 

gracefully, sprawling, scratched ink, mingling with sketches 

of knitted patterns for the strongest weave, early design ideas

to later catapult his invention—a linenized toe made to outlast

any wear with durable reinforcement in the yarn. i issued our

knitting and dyeing schedules, maintained stock-keeping 

units across all departments. from 1972 to 1978, i moved

into supervising above my last role. after viola edge let out

word of retiring, having nudged me into getting that first job

long ago, she recommended me for her position, personnel

manager, trained me for several months before she said adieu

to a life of socks upon socks every single day. i went from her

position to human resource administrator, to office manager,

once they hired someone else to help with the interviewing...

a preview of volume three from this project.

today's mail brought the gift of the proof of volume three from this project from my publisher. here are some eye-scenes from it. some early copies will be ready by mid-august, and the rest will be available in late september. it'll be so nice to be at this point in three years of these efforts, and the final poems have some stories which speak into the deepest of the unsaid so far. it'll all make sense once you read volume three. =)

a poetry reading at studio b on sunday, july 23 at 1 p.m. to introduce volume three poems.

four special, featured guests will be a part of the upcoming poetry reading for this project at studio b in boyertown on sunday, july 23 at 1 p.m.  spread the proverbial word.

this is the first new poetry reading of 2017 to introduce poems from the third and final book in the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county.

betty seifrit and ernie haas worked at boyertown auto body works. richard koch worked at bally ribbon mills, while his wife, mary-frances koch, worked at great american knitting mills, inc., the original home to the gold toe sock factory. below are some eye-scenes of them, and betty is pictured with her fur kid sophie who has two beautiful and different colors of eyes. everyone here other than sophie the dog will be a part of this upcoming poetry reading, ready to share more about their memories after answering questions from the audience.

and here is an excerpt of betty seifrit's poem.

betty seifrit, union township | born: 1940

i left some sewing place on first street in birdsboro after

i heard boyertown auto body works had openings, and not 

just for men—my grandmother, maude reinert, worked there

long before me. i wish i knew what role her hands played

in prepping trucks for highways, local roads. maude left 

us, this world, by 1953, after first opening her infant eyes

in the oley valley in 1899. back when we had contracts

with the government, i built just the left-hand side doors 

of u.s. army trucks. somebody else in our plant managed 

the passenger’s sides. we handled our shifts in the building

next to the hookies, a firehouse where those who live

for bingo bring ink-ready dabbers to win cuts of london 

broil, full chickens, ground beef, pork chops. bill wiles, 

some call him butcher bill, supplies the meat from burt’s 

farms along route 100 just outside of bechtelsville. with 

those truck doors for the grips of military drivers behind 

the wheel, i secured spongy insulation, fitting it tightly into 

the frames. i practiced the art of adding hinges, gave door

handles their purpose, shined it all up with a final protective 

coating. a crane-like machine above moved doors along once

i’d finished, maybe 5 or 6 a day. next stop—paint shop.

then they moved me back to the building on south walnut 

street. i became a woman of more electrical energy, running

wires from tail lights. i’d maneuver underneath, hooking up

brake lights. a clamp in my palm helped. some of the trucks...