Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Damned dotage


A request, for those who have a penchant for poetry and generosity towards geriatrics. Somewhere in literary limbo there is a poem called "Ice". A somewhat Stevensonian rumination, the day-dream of a chair-bound drudge on a hot day, inspired by the calls of a man piloting a cart-load of ice through a busy street. I remember the drift of the poem (how appropriate for the lines about penguins on ice-floes) and one line ... "the carter cracks his sudden whip" (which, alas, rudely rouses the protagonist from his reverie). Another line floats on the edge of my memory like a half-recognised face in the shadows .. "Sleep drifting deep .. deep drifting sleep"

Is there any kind soul out there who can put a name to the poet and mayhap a link wherein I can find the poem? (Bartleby has failed me, and Falstaff's Minstrels don't seem to have a line search option.) There is little I can offer in return except the consciousness of compassion. Or perhaps an introduction to the delights of Tom Lehrer.

The poem came to mind because of a tap on the shoulder from 30in2005, a book meme that has effectively sabotaged my To-Do list as I (far too frequently) lean back in my chair (taking care not to tip over entirely, a hazard of these damn swivel chairs that do little for the gravitas of the gorment) and light up, dreaming awhile about bursting bookshelves and days sans deadlines. I shall deal with it anon ...

N.B. My apologies for the awful alliteration. Like Topsy, it 'just growed'.

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6 comments:

neha vish said...

Wilfred Gibson's The Ice-Cart.

:)

There. A mid-February gift of memory.

The ramblings of a shoe fiend said...

I didn't know what poem you were referring to, until I clicked on the link provided by Neha. I learnt this in school! Thanks to both of you for bringing back memories of a hot, crowded classroom and Double English periods :)

panu said...

I remember the Eucalyptus trees leaning against the window panes while I did my Math class. Never did like doing problem sums. And most of the times they would be o 4th period, immediately after which we would have recess... The torture still affects me sometime.

erebus said...

Ah! Remember it. Gibson...Didn't like it much... I have a rather understanding of poetry and such so that isn't saying much...

Anyway... I think this is the one you're looking for
http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/gibson03.html

Emma said...

I think this is the one you are looking for: http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/622.html.

J. Alfred Prufrock said...

Thankee kindly, Neha (and Emma). Such a relief. You know how it niggles otherwise?

ShoeFie, Panu, Erebus - life moves on. So now we have these moments wwhen we sit in office and wonder ...

J.A.P.