Sympathies to David Ritchie for his loss. More sympathy to me for mine.
Two weeks ago someone broke into my shop (well, 'shop' is rather
pretentious, actually it's the garage of my ex) and stole my oxygen and
acetylene outfit, my arc welder, my drill press, my anvil and, most
distressing of all, the sculpture I'd just finished -- I do direct metal
sculptures out of copper tubing and copper sheet for fun and games. This
particular sculpture was for my daughter. It was a fountain of a man in a
business suit with a briefcase and a raised umbrella, the water poured down
on the man from inside the umbrella -- I called it "States of Mind". It was
great. Took me months to do. I couldn't believe the asshole thief made off
with it too. I dispise theives with good artistic taste. Whatever happened
to tough guys?
Mike Geary
Memphis
----- Original Message -----
From: "David Ritchie" <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Sunday, April 08, 2007 1:38 PM
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Poem
> The Bromley Cowboy
>
> When I had puzzled it out, a listing on ebay for an "elephant nose bone
> sword"
> this week strangely reminded me of Mull one day years ago when,
> at the bottom of a cliff, I found the skull of a Highland Cow.
> Over my father's objection I carried this home, which meant sweating it up
> the cliff and then
> onto the roof rack of our car, where it passed mile upon mile south to
> London.
>
> For want of anything smarter,
> with a dry cleaning hanger,
> I wired it to my Dad's garage.
>
> I took it down, to board a plane to America.
> In customs I was asked if I knew how common cows
> hereabouts are.
>
> To give the man his due,
> he let it through.
>
> The bone moved with me from Western home to Western home until one day a
> handyman or painter,
> asked if I might consider selling it, to his father, a collector.
> "No," I said.
> Unambiguously.
>
> A good while later,
> when next I sought the skull--
> well how often do *you* feel the need,
> a soliloquy coming on?--
> it was gone.
>
> (Now here is where, if I had any Latin,
> I'd put a tag in
> on recurring thoughts about
> the evanescence of
> possession.
> And maybe also bits concerning
> the ups and downs of prepositions.)
>
> What remains to me now, apart from my apparent and somewhat peculiar
> sensitivity to nose bone sword ads,
> is some bark of horn,
> an outer covering I didn't know existed,
> until I found it near where the rack was last seen.
>
> "CSI my back yard."
>
> Unable to escape my London Scottish roots,
> and like some sort of suburban Viking, "dun-roamin',"
> I have now mounted this residual lump on length of copper,
> cheap signifier of sculpture,
> and frail marker for my feeble wrath.
>
> David Ritchie,
> Portland, Oregon
>
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