Of E and of the claw hammer
You bought yesterday, its head
Tasting of light oil, the juice

Of dead striving–the haft
Of ash, for all its urethane varnish, is
Polished by body salts.

–

I like the above stanzas because it hints at the vanity of life, striving, accomplishment, modern advancement and technology.

“Tasting of light oil, the juice / Of dead striving” – Oil is the byproduct of decayed plants remains. The left over life blood of something that once strove for life. It is also the life blood or fuel of modern civilization’s striving to build something of itself, which for all of its upward mobility, seems to produce nothing but death in it’s wake. Our civilization seems to use oil in such a way that it becomes a “vanity of vanities.”

“the haft / Of ash, for all its urethane varnish, is/ Polished by body salts.” – A “haft / Of ash” or handle points to the futility that is inherent in the striving of mankind. A handle indicates a point of control, leverage or power over something, usually either a tool or a weapon. But what good is it to have an handle on ash, the crumbling remains of something that once lived but now no longer. If “ash” is perceived as death itself then this could be viewed in the sense of a weapon or in an ironic sense. Because who can put a handle on death itself? Death is by definition the complete loss of control whether voluntarily or not. And yet we continue to polish this handle of delusion by pouring our body sweat into our supposed accomplishments.

Anyway that’s my take on those lines.

—

The Haunted Ruin
By Robert Pinsky
Posted Thursday, June 11, 1998, at 3:30 AM ET

Even your computer is a haunted ruin, as your
Blood leaves something of itself, warming
The tool in your hand.

From far off, down the billion corridors
Of the semiconductor, military
Pipes grieve at the junctures.

This too smells of the body, its heated
Polymers smell of breast milk
And worry-sweat.

Hum of so many cycles in current, voltage
Of the past. Sing, wires. Feel, hand. Eyes,
Watch and form

Legs and bellies of characters:
Beak and eye of A. Serpentine hiss
S of the foregoers, claw-tines

Of E and of the claw hammer
You bought yesterday, its head
Tasting of light oil, the juice

Of dead striving--the haft
Of ash, for all its urethane varnish, is
Polished by body salts.

Pull, clawhead. Hold, shaft. Steel face,
Strike and relieve me. Voice
Of the maker locked in the baritone

Whine of the handsaw working.
Lost, lingerer like the dead souls of
Wilno, revenant. Machine-soul.
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