Vancouver Writing: Peter Trower
Chainsaws in The Cathedral
- for Al Purdy
Morning the crumpled land the hills
heaving up the sky the rain
beating down like blood the darkness
lifting from the trees the waste place
where the trees were leaving
a gray residue of mist
Camp at the mountain's foot men
grunting from bunks hawking grumbling back
into splinterwalled stockstink
of bunkhouse reality struggling
into dirtstiff overalls straggling
breakfastwards to the guthammer's jangle
Soon the crummies will strain up the switchbacks
with men for the mountain the song
will be sung again in the high hard places
donkeys will roar on the ridges
chainsaws will roar on the ridges
chainsaws whine in the cathedral
of virgin trees, the harsh mad music of loggers.
- peter trower: chainsaws in the cathedrals- collected woods poems
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