The Film Makers Called It ‘Art’
This week’s poem is one of those odd meta-things. A poem about film makers who produce a movie about a factory that closes, and the point of view of the poem is a former employee of that factory who sees the film. Layer upon commentary layer. Which is a lot more difficult to explicate than to just experience in the poem, I promise.
So, a couple definitions. This takes place in a carburetor factory. If you are younger than a certain age, don’t have a consuming interest in motorcycles or old cars, or have never taken apart your lawnmower to see how it burns gasoline, you may not know what a carburetor is. At the most basic level, a carburetor is just a device that controls air and fuel mixing together properly to power an internal combustion engine. (See more on how that works here.) Most modern cars have fuel rails and fuel injection to accomplish the same task.
Also, the poem mentions the four-barrel production line. The chamber in which air and fuel mixing occurs is a tube with one portion narrower than the rest. This is called a barrel. Single barrel carburetors work well for devices that basically run only at idle or full out — a good example is a chainsaw. For more complex engines which you want to power efficiently at a full range of conditions from idle to full speed, and at higher power, multiple barrels (2, or 4) are a good way to go.
That ought to be enough definition to get you through the poem. You’re on your own with the internet if you need more than that.
The Film Makers Called It ‘Art’
He had to pay to see the movie
made about the carburetor factory
after it closed. Popcorn in the theater.
On the screen, his old place on the four-barrel line
across from the supervisor’s glass shack.
The same as every morning,
ready to fire up. A movie with no people.
Static conveyors, rows of machine tool stations.
Shadowy punch presses, an open corridor.
Bright metal burrs still littered the floors.
Weeks afterward, he played the movie in his mind.
Frame by frame, all still shots now.
Cutting oil. Smeared hand rails. A pair of old
work gloves thrown onto a chair. He thought
he ought to be happy. Never going back.
If you enjoyed The Film Makers Called It ‘Art’
You can read more of my work on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print. The Film Makers Called it ‘Art’ also appears in this collection.
The image on this post is a motorcycle carburetor. But, in case you’re starving for more carburetor info, here’s some more on 4-barrel carburetors.
Missed a poem of the week? Links to prior weeks are on this page.
Have a great week, and look for another poem next Monday.