A poem about the Linotype from the book “In the Beginning was The Word” by David Andrus.
1954:
Central S.S., Hamilton
The Linotype is just a machine
we are told
like any other machine.
But this is wrong-
at the age of 14 I am
captivated by this ungainly
word-making device,
seduced by its handles,
wheels, pulleys, gears, cams,
fingers, arms and jaws,
its thousand mysteries of
brass and steel.
And for a decade
we grapple at a distance,
the machine and I,
its secrets whispered to me
by men with wooden legs,
men born in other centuries.
It is the first obsession
to shake me,
and carries me into time
locked against its molten heart,
troubling my dreams
again and again,
and again near the end,
as the machine stumbles on
its iron feet,
plunges from its pinnacle
into the soft, deep pages next to
Gutenberg and his moveable type.
1982:
Seldon Printing, Hamilton
the last machine is hauled into
the street and sold for scrap metal.
©2001 David Andrus
Did you enjoy this poem? If so, you may be interested to know that it appears in “Printers’ Tales” available as a paperback or ebook.