Iron Ore Miner (1841) -Final edit

[FranktheFrank]

Diary Conceit
Final Edit 3rd May 2023
Iron Ore Miner (1841)

Before Pen-y-Garn-ddu, at Trallwn
We slept in barns, watched our
Children grow large eyes
Gleaning oats spilled by the ponies
Scavenging left-overs from the turnip slicer
Set for winter fodder

At Dowlais we walked miles
Underground to reach the seam
Time to dwell on home
The red glow from our fires
The waft of cawl simmering
Our deep-seated love of hearth

Lean from the chill of the mountain
Air, lean from the weariness of ever
Present death: a roof fall
A pony’s stubborn kick
A careless strike
From a fellow’s axe

Sundays we wake to sunlight
Playing on our iron-set faces

Rachel cried when Evan went down
To keep the iron doors.
Sarai, his big sister, will watch
Over him. Only five years old
Afraid of the dark.
All my boys working
Earning their shilling

Evocative, strange to see
Women hauliers stripped
To the waist, shimmering
Sweat-streaked shapes
in flickering candlelight.

My grandson, John, studies every night
Books on mathematics and heat-engines
And me unable to sign my own name
He learns the new language, English, and savours
the old, Cymreig, at Sunday school

I beat that fireman bad. He spoke
Sharp to me as I struck the rock
Me, that has seen fifty winters
In these hills and felt its bitter
Wind whistle, chilling my bones
Too sharp for his own good

Me that ran in Rebecca robes and burned
The toll gates down and marched in '39
Poor Dic Penderyn, hanged
For our transgressions
Buried at Aberafon

We missed transportation
Because we changed our names
Better a liar than to leave
Our families bereft of succour
Parch says that would make
us worse than infidels

The fireman's life hangs by a thread
If he dies, I too will be dead soon enough
I cough up the rock-dust from my lungs, mixed
With bright red-speckled phlegm.

The mine brings us down slowly,
Kills gradually, painfully. I won't see sixty
Rachel knows, she puts her gold coins
By. Dai knows as well, I can't keep up
With the younger men

A lass helped me move a tub today
Lovely, her hair shining by my cap candle
Light. Her breasts heaving
With exertion as she strove with me
Her garment loose, I saw enough
her beauty made me glad - glad

End

Trallwn - a place - muddy ground - shallow
Cawl - lamb stew
Parch - pastor
Pen-y-garn-ddu - Peaks of rocks black

******


Before Pen-y-Garnddu, at Trallwn
We slept in barns and watched our
children grow large eyes
Gleaning oats spilled by the ponies
Scavenging left-overs from the turnip slicer
set for winter fodder

At Dowlais we walked miles
Underground to reach the seam
Time to dwell on home and hearth
The red glow from our fires
The waft of home-cooked cawl
Deep seated love of hearth

Lean from the chill of the mountain
Air, lean from the weariness of ever
Present death: a roof fall
A pony’s stubborn kick
A careless strike
From a fellow’s axe

Sundays we wake to sunlight
Playing on our iron-set faces

Rachel cried when Evan went down
To keep the iron doors. Rachel will watch
Over him. Only five years old and afraid
Of the dark. All my boys working
Earning their shilling

Evocative, strange to see
Women stripped
To the waist, shimmering
Sweat-streaked shapes
in flickering candlelight.

My grandson, John, studies every night
Books on mathematics and heat-engines
And me unable to sign my own name. He learns
The new language, English and writes
In the old, Cymreig, at Sunday school.

I beat that fireman bad. He spoke
Sharp to me as I struck the rock
Me, that has seen fifty winters
In these hills and felt its bitter
Wind whistle, chilling my bones
Too sharp for his own good

Me that ran in Rebecca robes and burned
The toll gates down and marched in '39
Poor Dic Penderyn, hanged
For our transgressions
Buried at Aberafon

We missed transportation
Because we changed our names
Better a liar than transportation
Parch says, to leave our families without
Support would make us worse than infidels

The fireman's life hangs by a thread
If he dies, I will be dead soon enough too.
I cough up the rock dust from my lungs, mixed
With bright red-speckled phlegm.

The mine brings us down slowly,
Kills gradually, painfully. I won't see sixty.
Rachel knows it, she puts her gold coins
By. Dai knows as well, I can't keep up
With the younger men

A lass helped me move a tub today
Lovely with her shining hair by my cap
Light. Her breasts heaving
With exertion as she strove with me
Her vest loose, sagging low. I saw enough
To make me glad.

******

[BobBradshaw]

Wow, love the details in this. There are too many to quote. The piece is filled with ore rich veins. Terrific poem.

[FranktheFrank]

Thanks, Bob, pleased you like it. Much appreciated.
It's sad that the IBPC has ended isn't it?
I hope it is a hiatus and not permanent.

[BobBradshaw]

I feel like you’ve been working towards this amazing poem for several years. Your work has paid off. This poem puts me right there with the narrator. If we don’t nominate pieces for the ibpc this month, then send it out.

[FranktheFrank]

I have sent it out, should know soon.

[Billy]

Yes, I second Bob’s praise. Fabulous write. Love the whole poem and the way it ends.

[capricorn]

Wow Frank, this poem is awesome. You have obviously put a lot of work into writing it. Fingers crossed you'll get it published soon, you really deserve it.

Eira

[FranktheFrank]

Thank you so much Eira, so nice to see you again.
Hope you will start posting soon.
The IBPC has not moved since August last year, so we don't know what will happen.
Michael seems upbeat about it, so maybe it will start up again soon.
Very nice to see you posting remarks.