I’m not afraid of poetry, but I don’t read it as often as I
should. Somebody mentioned What
Work Is, a poem by Philip Levine on the radio today.
I read it, then heard him read it, then wanted to share it
with you for what it has to say about the work we do. Here it is:
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford
Highland Park. For work.
You know what work
is--if you're
old enough to read
this you know what
work is, although you
may not do it.
Forget you. This is
about waiting,
shifting from one
foot to another.
Feeling the light
rain falling like mist
into your hair,
blurring your vision
until you think you
see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe
ten places.
You rub your glasses
with your fingers,
and of course it's
someone else's brother,
narrower across the
shoulders than
yours but with the
same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide
the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to
give in to
rain, to the hours
wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that
somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who
will say, "No,
we're not hiring
today," for any
reason he wants. You
love your brother,
now suddenly you can
hardly stand
the love flooding you
for your brother,
who's not beside you
or behind or
ahead because he's
home trying to
sleep off a miserable
night shift
at Cadillac so he can
get up
before noon to study
his German.
Works eight hours a
night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you
hate most,
the worst music ever
invented.
How long has it been
since you told him
you loved him, held
his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide
and said those words,
and maybe kissed his
cheek? You've never
done something so
simple, so obvious,
not because you're
too young or too dumb,
not because you're
jealous or even mean
or incapable of
crying in
the presence of
another man, no,
just
because you don't know what work is.
You
can also hear Philip Levine
introduce his poem and then read it.
Levine is a Pulitzer prize-winning
American poet, who is currently the poet laureate of the United States. He frequently writes about life in
working class Detroit. His life story left
me thinking about a different era in American life, of dustbowls and Woodie
Guthrie and photographs by Dorothea Lange. About waiting for work and the
opportunity to be productive.
We are in our own hard times. There is no less nobility in the work that we’re doing, and waiting to do.
