mervyn
merv worked in grey lynn
in the shoe factory his job
in the storeroom turning
big uneven pieces of leather
back and forth in mind on
the wooden table to count out
see clearly just how many uppers
the flattened spread of the upper
part of the shoe could be
cut from one such
piece all day
turning the leather
thinking a headful
of Miró protozoan
shapes under a
bald electric light
come winter summer
in an air that fairly
sweated. come back in
from lunch i’d tell him
times it was beautiful
out there, he’d always reply
“i call these kinds of days
typical grey lynn weather”
and i’d think what he meant,
the blue out there all uncut
and clean yet perfectly
edged along rusting
iron rooves of
left-over paints.
merv, i’d like
to think, well retired
now alone in his
mother’s house is
looking out on a
garden he fusses
about in under
a sky that times
looks like his
typical grey lynn
good weather
nothing to cut
just the days
to fit into
a smaller
piece
now.
july 9, 2012
panmure
Thanks a lot, guys. Marlers Shoes was tucked away in a steep little street running off Great North Rd. Since it was many a year ago I worked with Merv, and even Marlers Shoes has just become local history now, I think sadly Merv has only a small piece of time left from which to squeeze out his final days. Someone else commented the same as John, that is, they ‘knew’ Merv, though they never met him.
As John says, what a great portrait! I love this poem. You have a unique way of tying people and places together, as if they were simply cut that way. This one has a sadness, but also a sense of ‘stability’ that lingers there and might be nice. I know Grey Lynn a little bit 🙂
I think I know Merv, except his name wasn’t Merv and he did not live in Grey Lynn – but I know him.
Great portrait/tableau