That’s the sound of unpractised hammering:
Different from a nail hit hard, straight, head-
To-head, with none of the light repetitive
Clinks. And now, over the fence, the levering
Squeak speaks of the nail drawn out: its slot
The risk of diverting the next from true.
All this, for me, is merely vicarious experience –
The creation of something from nothing
Or, it may be, nothing from something –
A chance of perception knocked into thought:
Thus the mind drives itself into every event
Inserting its knowledge, belief, supposition.
Listening, I bring to mind a leather-aproned
Carpenter – sunburned, sleeves rolled high –
In an exercise of unerring accuracy, hammering
Home point after point in the whole reality
Of human building: lessons for me no less than
For the efforts of my neighbour or the child.
The precision in handling a hammer and
Nails may be no great matter in the human –
And a child’s lack of mastery less, although
It has the beauty of innocence – yet we are
Formed by our chosen applications, judging
Ourselves, perhaps being judged, accordingly.
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