A dawn wind
ruffles
the still black waters of the harbour,
sending the boats
nudging uneasily at their moorings,
startled awake.
As light shivers into sun,
Some subside into a jogging acceptance,
held hard by rope.
Others strain
towards the open sea,
longing,
hopeful.
Now and then,
one
slips the knots
and,
bobbing uncertain in the currents,
Slides down the bright track
to unknown waters.
This the shortest segment, as of course it would be. Again, the music here carries the emotion. And we get to know who the narrator is- for those of you who hadn’t already worked this out!
There is no more to say.
MOVEMENT SIX: HOME
SONG NINE: HOME
SOLO : MARY
Please bring him back to me
Please bring him home.
Please bring him back to me
Please bring him home.
The train is on its way
Bringing back the men
So few of them..
The train is on its way
Bringing back the men
So few of them..
ALL GIRLS
Please bring him back to me
Please bring him home.
Please bring him back to me
Please bring him home.
The train is on its way
Bringing back the men
So few of them..
The train is on its way
Bringing back the men
So few of them..
SOLO : MARY
I see him climbing up the hill
ALL GIRLS
I see him climbing up the hill
SOLO: JOE
I see her standing on the hill
MARY
I see him break into a run
JOE
I see her break into a run
MARY
My Joe.
JOE
My Mary.
MARY AND JOE
You’re home/I’m home
NARRATOR
There were six of us in our village. Me and Fred and Billy, and their sisters, Dot and Phoebe. And my girl, Mary.
We all lived in our street, and played together in the back alley. Or out on the hills. Until the war came; and everything changed.
Dot came home. I came home to Mary.
We buried Phoebe here, in the churchyard. Fred and Billy .. well, we don’t know where they are but we put up a cross in the village square with their names, and Phoebe’s, on it.
There are crosses like that, with their own Freds, and Billies and Phoebes, soldiers, and nurses, and labourers, and drivers, and vets, and mechanics, and cooks- all sorts ..in towns and villages all over England.
And Scotland
And Ireland
And Wales
And France
And Italy
And Germany
And Belgium,
And Poland
And Portugal
And Greece
And Serbia
And Romania,
And Montenegro
And Bulgaria
And Austria-Hungary
And the Ottoman (Turkey) Empire
And Russia
And Canada
And the United States
And Cuba
And Panama
And Bolivia
And Peru
And Brazil
And Uruguay
And Ecuador
And Guatemala
And Nicaragua
And Costa Rica
And Haiti
And Honduras
And Australia
And New Zealand
And India
And South Africa
And Liberia
And Rhodesia
And German East Africa,
And German South-West Africa,
And Togoland
And Cameroon
And Japan
And Siam
And China
What is completely missing in this segment, really, is the fighting. I simply couldn’t find a way to describe it. I wrote a poem about the mud, but we decided not to use it as a song: just too grim. Thousands of troops died choking in it.
It was always muddy
on the farm –
We used to squelch and slip and laugh
across the farm.
The dog would wag his tail in glee
and send mud
flying over me..
But this mud gets inside your teeth
sticks in your hair
is everywhere..
It sucks your boots from off your feet
it sucks the heart right out of you
If you don’t watch
your step
across the boards
and fall
it will suck your life
and all..
Instead, I stuck to my original idea, and wrote about how it felt to them; just a glimpse of how they experienced it.. The music in this bit is brilliant. The whole tone becomes terrifying and desolate.
I used the refrain of Mum, partly because I was still thinking of them as children; and partly because I know from all the research I did that when people are in agony or dying it is their mother they call for.
MOVEMENT FOUR: WAR
NARRATOR
Then, at last, the real war started. – for the girls waiting in the dressing stations down the line.
…and the boys sweating in the trenches
SONG SEVEN: THE SILENCE
ALL GIRLS
We stood there in the silence
Beside the smooth white beds
While the guns roared in the distance
And the shells screamed overhead
We stood there in the silence
Beside the smooth white beds
While the guns roared in the distance
And the shells screamed overhead
We stood there in the silence
Beside the smooth white beds
While the guns roared in the distance
And the shells screamed overhead
We stood there in the silence
Beside the smooth white beds
While the guns roared in the distance
And the shells screamed overhead
And then they started coming
All the blood and pain and dying
All the muddy sheets and crying
And we couldn’t really help them
Very much..
Just comfort them with
Words and eyes and touch ..
Just comfort them with
Words and eyes and touch ..
It wasn’t what we thought that
It would be, Mum.
It wasn’t what we thought that it would be.
It wasn’t what we thought that
It would be, Mum.
It wasn’t what we thought that it would be.
NARRATOR
It wasn’t what we thought that it would be, either. Mud and smoke and running; bullets stinging past you in the din …I never shot my rifle in the end. I was too scared to do anything but run, blind.
SONG EIGHT: BILLY’S GONE
ALL BOYS
Mum..
Mum…
Mum…
Billy’s gone,
Billy’s gone, mum.
Mum..
Mum…
Mum…
Billy’s gone,
Billy’s gone, mum.
And I can’t find Fred…
Mum..
Mum…
Mum…
Billy’s gone,
Billy’s gone, mum.
Mum..
Mum…
Mum…
Billy’s gone,
Billy’s gone, mum.
And I can’t find Fred…
And Dot and Phoebe
How do we know
Where they are,
Mum?
Where they are, Mum..
Mum..
Mum…
Mum…
Billy’s gone,
Billy’s gone, Mum.
And I can’t find Fred…
And Dot and Phoebe
How do we know
Where they are,
Mum?
Where they are,
Mum?
I can’t see anyone..
I can’t see anything..
Mum..
Mum..
Mum..
NARRATOR
And on it went for months and months and then years and years…
The first Christmas, we had a football match with the Jerries across the trenches.. We sang carols, gave each other presents.. For a bit, everything felt all right.
But after that, just cold and dirty and lonely and missing friends. And homesick. Not scared, really, except for moments in the fighting . Just lasting till the next cigarette, and wishing for home. The worse thing was still the mud. We hated the mud more than anything.
SONG EIGHT : THERE’S A LONG, LONG TRAIL A’WINDING: (Stoddard King and Alonzo Elliott: 1914)
BOYS AND GIRLS
There’s a long, long trail a-winding
into the land of my dreams,
where the nightingales are singing
and a white moon beams:
There’s a long, long night of waiting
until my dreams all come true;
till the day when I’ll be going down
that long , long trail with you.
There’s a long, long trail a-winding
into the land of my dreams,
where the nightingales are singing
and a white moon beams:
There’s a long, long night of waiting
until my dreams all come true;
till the day when I’ll be going down
that long , long trail with you.
There had to be a movement for letters home. Those heartbreaking letters from the line , often by people who had never written them before; from some who couldn’t write and had to dictate them. They used the stock phrases that were seen to be the polite way to write; they were heavily censored if they said anything real about where they were or what they were doing, and in any case, they were writing to family and loved ones at home who they didn’t want to worry.
At first the training in the camps and the good regular food and the fun of being all together to lads who had been used to long hours of work must have been relatively easy to be jaunty about; everything changed of course when they arrived in the trenches themselves and began to get a sense of the true nature of the nightmare they found themselves in. It was in any case so far removed from any experience anyone at home would have had there were no words to express the truth.
The girls were trained as nurses with rigid discipline. And when they were moved, they were not always in dressing stations behind the lines; many of them were very close to the fighting. Their work was far from angelic: dirty, exhausting and very dangerous. Many of them died, as the men did, from the shelling; they also died, as the men did, from infections caught from their patients.
I tried to express the disjunct between what they said and how they increasingly felt by interspersing the letters they actually sent home with the other refrain – beginning ‘I’m thinking of you’, which expressed how they really felt under the bravado; but could not write.
They were so young. If your had your parents’ permission, you could sign up at 16; many, many lads lied about their age and went at 14, 15.
MOVEMENT FOUR: DISPATCHES
NARRATOR
It was all so exciting! First everything – first time on a train, first time on a ship, first time abroad- new people, new work.. new hills and trees and valleys.. new food, new words..
And all of us had our best friends to share it with – our pals, all together in the same regiment. All together against the foe.
So much to write home about.. but .. no Mum to wrap you up in red flannel if you caught a cold.. no little sister on your knee.. no sweetheart to walk out with.. no way to talk about being scared, or homesick.. in any case, that wouldn’t be what your Mum and Dad at home would want to hear..
SONG FIVE: DISPATCHES
BOYS AND GIRLS
I’m thinking of you
Every day.
It seems so odd
That you should be
So far away.
I hope
We’ll all come home
One day
It seems so odd
That we should be
So far away..
Far away
ALL BOYS
All very well here.
Bright and hot and sunny.
I can stick a bayonet
In a scarecrow dummy
I can strip a rifle down
Quick as shoot a bunny!
What a lark! What a lark! What a lark!
Thank you for the honey!
We are doing very well.
All the lads are happy
Drilling in the lovely sun
Getting really savvy
I am getting very strong
Learned to dig a lavvy!
What a lark! What a lark! What a lark!
Give my love to granny!
Boys and girls
I’m thinking of you
Every day.
It seems so odd
That you should be
So far away.
I hope
We’ll all come home
One day
It seems so odd
That we should be
So far away..
Far away
NARRATOR
The girls were learning too -they were dealing with a terror greater than they had ever known: Matron.
ALL GIRLS
Training here is very hard
Very scared of Matron
If your cap is crooked or
You haven’t ironed your apron
She will fry you with her eye
Until you’ve got it straightened
What a lark! What a lark! What a lark!
Thank you for the bacon!
NARRATOR
But then we moved to the front.. And things were different.. The letters still kept coming, but it was getting harder and harder to be cheerful… Joe and Mary wrote to each other, and said as much as they could-
Dearest Mary, I hope the cow is well now and your mother’s tooth is better. I keep seeing you on the hill where we always used to walk. I wish I was there with you..always, Your Joe.
and she replied:
My dearest Joe, I hope this finds you in the pink as it leaves me…The cow is better, thank you. And my mother’s tooth is out. I’m not much one for writing, dearest Joe. But I’ll be waiting for you on the hill, just like I promised. I’ll always wait for you, my dearest Joe. Your Mary.
BOYS AND GIRLS
I’m thinking of you
Every day.
It seems so odd
That you should be
So far away.
I hope
We’ll all come home
One day
It seems so odd
That we should be
So far away..
Far away
BOY SOLO
I’m sorry that
My writing
Is
So shaky
The paper’s always
Wet here
In
The trenches
I’m sorry that
My writing
Is
So shaky
The paper’s always
Wet here
In
The trenches
My pencil goes
Right through it
My pencil goes
Right through it
The noise is
Fairly loud here
The noise is
Fairly loud here
But I am
Very well
And
Keeping cheerful
But I am
Very well
And
Keeping cheerful
I’m sorry that
My writing
Is
So shaky
In the trenches..
In the trenches..
In the trenches..
This is self-explanatory really. I wanted to capture the apprehension and fear and excitement which might have swept the village after war was declared; the rumours and the propaganda and the real fears; the u-boats were lurking around small ports… although not as far as I know to kidnap villagers..
.. and then I wanted to express how the romantic idea of war which persisted from their childhood fed into all this, together with the prospect of leaving home and having a real adventure; and finally I wanted to use the authentic songs of the time to show this little group of teenagers getting caught up in a nationwide frenzy of patriotism – but I have used the soldiers’ own satirical songs to temper this with the innate shrewd scepticism of the troops.
Shades of O What a Lovely War are inevitable here – the show that brought Jools and I together as collaborators in the first place. I love this music; Jools has had great fun with it and the kids will love singing it and the orchestra will love playing it and hopefully the audience will love listening to it. Things get much sadder quite fast after this, so we need a bit of a knees up at this point!
MOVEMENT THREE: GOING TO WAR
SONG THREE: WE MIGHT GO TO WAR!
BOYS AND GIRLS
Have you heard what they are saying?
Have you heard what they are saying?
Billy’s brother says that we might go to war!
And our Mam is looking worried
And our Dad is working, working
Day and night
To get the hay in..
Have you heard what they are saying?
Have you heard what they are saying?
Heard what everybody’s saying?
We might go to war.
They’ll be u-boats
In the harbour
And they’ll come ashore
In moonlight
And they’ll
Kidnap us
And kill us
‘Cause it’s war
Doreen says
Her hubby’s
Going –
Says he wants
To save
The country..
Milly says
The country’s
Saving him from her!
Have you heard what they are saying?
Have you heard what they are saying?
We’ll all starve
Because the army
Needs the harvest
For the soldiers…
No more cream
Or bread
Or butter..
‘Cause it’s war
The Germans
Just aren’t like us
They’ve got horns
And spikes
And helmets
And they growl
Instead of speaking
And they roar!
Have you heard what they are saying?
Have you heard what they are saying?
Joe’s Dad
has lost his horses
They said
they had to have them..
To pull
the guns in Flanders…
Poor Bess and Daisy May..
They are sending them to War!
Have you heard what they are saying?
Have you heard what they are saying?
Billy’s brother says that we might go to war!
And our Mam is looking worried
And our Dad is working, working
Day and night
To get the hay in..
Have you heard what they are saying?
Have you heard what they are saying?
Heard what everybody’s saying?
We might go to war.
NARRATOR
And then suddenly, it was more than saying. It was real. To us lads, it all sounded wonderful.
The girls weren’t so sure. But Dot and Phoebe decided that if we were going, they were going too.. neither of them fancied ambulance driving, so they both signed up as nurses. They liked the uniforms, and it was more glamorous and romantic. Their mums were happy, because they thought they’d be safe from the fighting, away back from the line.
Mary couldn’t come. Her mother was old and frail, and if she left, there was no-one to work the farm, with all the men gone. And no horses. It wouldn’t be right.
As Joe joined the line to sign up, for the first time, she wasn’t lining up behind him. Her face was white as she waved him goodbye.
But.. no one could be sad for long.. We were bubbling with excitement. A real war! And we were going to be in the thick of it!
SONG FOUR: WE’RE GOING TO WAR!
ALL BOYS
We’re going to war! We’re going to war!
The army’s here and their drums are loud!
They march and march and they shake the ground!
Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound!
Everyone running to hear the sound!
We really are going to war!
We’re going to war! We’re going to war!
The army’s here and their drums are loud!
They march and march and they shake the ground!
Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound!
Everyone running to hear the sound!
We really are going to war!
No more living with dad and mum!
No more slaving to earn a crumb!
Shoulder to shoulder and chum by chum!
We’re all marching behind the drum!
We really are going to war!
OH, OH, OH, IT’S A LOVELY WAR! (ANON)
SCHOOLS 1 AND 2:
Oh, oh, oh, it’s a lovely war,
Who wouldn’t be a soldier, eh ?
Oh, it’s a shame to take the pay;
As soon as reveille is gone,
We feel just as heavy as lead,
But we never get up till the sergeant
Brings us breakfast up to bed.
Oh, oh, oh, it’s a lovely war,
What do we want with eggs and ham,
When we’ve got plum and apple jam?
Form fours, right turn,
How shall we spend the money we earn?
Oh, oh, oh, it’s a lovely war,
SONG FOUR: WE’RE GOING TO WAR!
ALL BOYS
Like the heroes of Greece and Rome!
Like the cowboys we play at home!
Me and my pals against the foe!
All together and none alone!
We really are going to war!
We sail tomorrow across the sea!
Billy, Tommy and Fred and me!
We’re going to fight every last jerry!
We’ll kill them all and be home for tea!
We really are going to war!
PACK UP YOUR TROUBLES (FELIX POWELL)
SCHOOLS 3 AND 4
Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,
And smile, smile, smile,
While you’ve a lucifer to light your fag,
Smile, boys, that’s the style.
What’s the use of worrying?
It never was worth while, so
Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,
And smile, smile, smile.
SONG FOUR: WE’RE GOING TO WAR!
ALL BOYS
We’ll stick together and none will fall
When we march back we’ll be strong and tall
Our mums will cry and the girls will call
We’ll be the heroes who saved us all!
We really are going to war!
ALL GIRLS
We’ll wait to catch them in case they fall!
We’ll wrap them warmly in sheet and shawl!
We’ll hold their hands when they cry and call!
We’ll be the heroes who nursed them all!
We really are going to war!
GOODBYE-EE (R.P.WESTON AND BERT LEE)
SCHOOLS 5 AND 6
Goodbye-ee, goodbye-ee,
Wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee,
Tho’ it’s hard to part I know,
I’ll be tickled to death to go.
Don’t cry-ee, don’t sigh-ee,
There’s a silver lining in the sky-ee,
Bonsoir, old thing, cheer-i-o, chin, chin,
Nah-poo, toodle-oo, goodbye-ee.
I didn’t want to paint a picture of pre-war England as too idyllic; I’m sure life in a small village like this was pretty tough. So this is a tough song. I hope it is realistic. I like the little sister’s head bobbing up and down among the uncut corn as she brings lunch.
Jools has brilliantly set it to a very lively folk-song kind of rhythm which works really well, stops it being too melancholy, and provides a lovely contrast to the tender nostalgia of Long Ago.
SONG TWO: LONG AGO: WORK
NARRATOR
Life at the mill was hard. But the pay was enough. And us lads were all together. We still managed to have a bit of a laugh here and there.
ALL BOYS
The sky is dark.
The dawn is sharpening the wind
My feet are clumsy; stiff with sleep.
I am so tired.
Inside the mill
We shiver out of coats and scarves
We start our work; our fingers yawn.
We are so tired.
Will I be here
Pushing this handle in the gloom
Will I be here
Through all the summer days to come?
The sky is dark.
The dawn is sharpening the wind
My feet are clumsy; stiff with sleep.
I am so tired.
NARRATOR
At least the girls were outside, in the sunshine. But their work was unrelenting too. Especially that summer – so long, so hot..
ALL GIRLS
The sun is up.
My back is bending in the heat
My fingers pull the stubborn husks.
I am so tired.
I stretch my arms.
Across the field my sister bobs
The pasty warm inside her hand.
We are so tired.
We work until we cannot see the corn
We work until our hands are torn
The sun is up.
My back is bending in the heat
My fingers pull the stubborn husks.
I am so tired.
Boys and girls
The day’s work never seems to end
We are so tired.
NARRATOR
We thought that things would go on like this for ever.. that nothing would ever change.. that there would be no more to our world.. no wide horizons.. no surprises. We might get married.. have kids.. buy a cottage one day.. But always here, in the same village.
We were happy enough with that, but..
It’s hard, when you’re young, not to want a bit of change. A bit of adventure…
But then it came.
It wasn’t what we thought that it would be.
SONG ONE: (reprise) LONG AGO
BOYS AND GIRLS
I can remember how it was
The day we heard.
When we heard that change was coming
Coming right here to the village
Come to take us and to break us
Long ago.
I’ve decided to publish in this blog the full narration and lyrics of the song cycle we are in the process of writing for the Schools project at Bath Abbey, as a serial. It is a half-hour piece, performed on June 12th at Bath Abbey, sung by the children of 6 schools, I think, and accompanied by members of the Bristol Ensemble. The narrator – hoorah! – is Jon Monie. This will be its only performance. All are welcome if you are around.
I took this momentous decision which affects the lives of so many people – at least six, as far as I know – because I like this piece and I am proud of it as a lyricist. And a dear friend of mine told me off yesterday for always seeing what I do as second in importance to the music.
The poems are of course transformed by the music into something much more moving and beautiful than they are alone; but they do have merit in themselves.. and after all, they are the story.
Sometimes when you are working with a composer, lyrics combust into music almost immediately; sometimes he grumbles a lot, tries to make you throw it out, says he will try and do something with it – as if he knows all too well the nature of that which he is polishing – and then eventually, capitulates, and it works. Two of the best songs in this – the Trenches song in Dispatches, and the last song – only exist because I fought for them. I’m glad I did. It feels important to stand up for my own vision of a piece.
This was a difficult commission; to write a song cycle for small children about WW1.
We have been immersed in this subject – first for The Cool Web, then for Demon Lover, (which has a long flashback to WW1) and now for this – since 2013. It’s been a long war. However, I am reliably informed that it will be over by Christmas.
Two things which became gradually clear to me led me to this treatment.
First, the understanding that what matters to me in war is love. The love and grief of Graves for his lost friend David became the core of the Web; Demon lover became – for me- about the betrayal of love. The horror of the vast mincing machine of war is in itself important only by virtue of the importance of that which it destroys. How it does it is not what engages me.
Second: children. Children will be singing this. I wanted it to be about them. I did not want it to be more than they could bear; but I wanted it to be honest. Some of these children who are singing may have themselves experienced war; but most of them will not.
And when that thought connected to what became clear to me in reading endless first hand descriptions of how wounded soldiers call not for their sweethearts but for their mothers.. I knew how to do it.
So I have told the story of six children from a small village in England who go to war.
When we played it through to our choirmaster and our narrator , with Jools singing it at the piano, and I saw them so close to tears, I realised that it works. Its heart is in the right place, which is what matters.
So: Here is the first Movement:
WHEN THE WAR CAME
A SONG CYCLE FOR CHILDREN
JOOLS SCOTT AND SUE CURTIS
MOVEMENT ONE: HOW IT WAS
NARRATOR
There were six of us in our village. Joe and Fred and Billy, and their sisters, Dot and Phoebe. And Joe’s girl, Mary. Mary was always Joe’s girl, right from when we could walk. He would be running, and she would be tottering along behind him, trying to catch up.
We all lived in our street, and played together in the back alley. Or out on the hills. I don’t think our parents knew where we were half the time.
Joe was the leader of the gang, always out ahead, urging the others on.
SONG ONE: LONG AGO: CHILDHOOD
ALL BOYS
I can remember how it was..
So long ago
I can remember how it was..
So long ago
How days were fun and long and busy
How the bath at home was grimy
How I always was so hungry
Long ago.
NARRATOR
Fred was more of a dreamer, a quiet lad.. A good friend though. You needed him, he was there.
FRED
I can remember how it was
So long ago..
I can remember how it was..
So long ago
We six were all there together
Walking happy on a Sunday
Kicking feet on the church railing
Long ago
NARRATOR
Billy was a go-getter. Even at that age, he had an eye for the girls.. And they for him.
BILLY
I can remember how it was
So long ago
I can remember how it was..
So long ago
We were cheeky, young and easy;
Mad, impatient to be living..
And the girls all pink and giggly..
Long ago.
NARRATOR
The girls were just ‘the girls’ to us. We spent most of the time trying to get away from them.
ALL GIRLS
I can remember how it was
So long ago.
I can remember how it was..
So long ago
The boys were all so naughty
Calling names and pulling pigtails,
Throwing stones and chasing, teasing..
Long ago.
Long ago
Long ago
NARRATOR
We all had a bit of schooling, when the harvest didn’t need us. Learned about Kings and Queens, and Famous Battles, and Cowboys and Indians, and the Knights of the Round Table, and the Fall of Troy. All very romantic and exciting, and good for games on the hills, but just in old books; not real..
ALL GIRLS
I can remember how it was
So long ago.
I can remember how it was..
So long ago..
We thought it would last forever
Thought that change would never shake us
Never come and take and break us
Long ago.
NARRATOR
But then we turned fourteen; school was over, freedom was over; we were grown-ups and we had to work for our families; life began in earnest. It was the mill for the lads, and farm work for the girls.. none of us fancied service – we didn’t want to go away to a big house where no-one knew us …
ALL GIRLS
I can remember how it was
So long ago.
I can remember how it was..
So long ago..
All those days out in the sunshine
Turned to work and dirt and growing
Turned us into men and women..
Long ago..
Long ago
Long ago
Long ago
Long ago …
They appear, here and there,
in books,
in sentimental American series,
in films.
No feathers, usually,
no trumpets
just informal.
They save a poor struggling human
and then disappear into thin air,
usually in a back view,
going down the road.
Despite not really believing in angels,
I think I’ve met a few
in my time.
And now,
I suspect,
another has appeared,
in cords, with rucksack.
Standard issue.
No wings.
At a moment when my artistic life is
fraught with stresses,
disappointments,
and frustrations
that hang upon the beatings of my heart so
that I can scarcely trust that I will take
the next breath;
be able to utter
the next word,
one would think a gentle gardener,
trimming away the tangles,
stroking the grass into reluctant green,
filling the newly dug flowerbeds with rich darkness,
lovingly placing tiny plants into soft earth,
bringing my garden back to life,
would bring no comfort .
But he does.
One kind of growing
nourishes another
I suppose.
He drives off in a black car,
much set about with boxes.
As far as I could see,
he was still there
at the end of the road.
Housing around 13,000 employees, Apple Park, as the headquarters is known, is a futuristic feat of engineering that contains the world’s largest piece of curved glass. Apple CEO Tim Cook told 60 Minutes in 2015 “the quality and the size” of the 3,000 sheets of glass that have been used at the headquarters “are above all that has ever been accomplished.” And according to a new report from Bloomberg, the glass is so flawless and unobtrusive that employees keep walking into it.
The bright young things of Apple
clear-minded in their bright circle
insulated from the dark, confusing and untidy world outside,
banging their heads against walls
so transparent that they cannot see that
what they cannot see is, all the same, stubbornly there,
is something I would have hated to miss.
Housing around 13,000 employees, Apple Park, as the headquarters is known, is a futuristic feat of engineering that contains the world’s largest piece of curved glass. Apple CEO Tim Cook told 60 Minutes in 2015 “the quality and the size” of the 3,000 sheets of glass that have been used at the headquarters “are above all that has ever been accomplished.” And according to a new report from Bloomberg, the glass is so flawless and unobtrusive that employees keep walking into it.
An apple is a highly successful fruit.
The precise curve of its skin
beautifully contains and limits
the sweet temptation of its flesh
which allows the pips, in time, to be
scattered,
clad in their own fertilizer,
where they will flourish and bud
endlessly
into the future.
Had the architects of Apple
known that wisdom
that made skin
red to the eye and touch,
alive; there; tangible, so that the life within it
would see its limits and adhere to them,
remain human,
humanity would not be in danger of having
in the end,
only its own reflection to perceive.
