Transatlantic Cable 7 – The Businessmen

men of progress
Men of Progress by Chriatian Schussele

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Transatlantic Cable 7 – The Businessmen

For all your sparks and all your dreams,
And tinkering in sheds,
Without our means, your greatest schemes
Would never leave your heads.

Who paid for Archimedes’ tools ?
Who built each church and pyramid ?
Who funded Oxford’s ancient schools ?
I’ll tell you who – we did !

The business of business is building your dream,
By priming the pump and by working the seam –
Alone, we’re but tepid – together, we’re steam !
So stoke up the pressure
And speed up the thresher
To reap our returns in the Future’s regime.

To fund savants and engineers,
Don’t trust in dons or lords –
It’s we who lift your valves and gears
From off your drawing boards.

Who built up Caxton, Bacon, Hooke ?
The musket and the blunderbuss ?
Who floated Cabot, Drake and Cook ?
I’ll tell you who – it’s us !

And if we should falter or labour in vain,
We’ll swallow our losses and start out again –
We’ve plenty of patience to wait out the rain.
So get the cogs turning
And set the coals burning
To forge the brave Future and ride the big train.

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Transatlantic Cable 6 – The Engineer

cartographer
Cartographer by Donato Giancola

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Transatlantic Cable 6 – The Engineer

Bigger, faster, higher, stronger,
Pressures greater, pistons longer,
Pumping, thrusting, pulsing, striving,
Flywheels spinning, crankshafts driving.
I built for you a braver world,
A place of pulleys, springs and gears
Where fates enmeshed and fortunes swirled
Within the palms of engineers.
You had the road, you had the wheel,
But what you lacked-for was the dream –
You brought me rust, I gave you steel –
You brought me rain, I gave you steam.
For all I did,
There’s so much greater, greater that I could’ve done.
For all I strode,
There’s so much further, further that I could’ve run.
For all I built,
There’s so much higher, higher that I could’ve got.
For all I planned,
I was ready, always ready, but the world was not.

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Musical AI version generated by Suno.com – find more of them over here.

Transatlantic Cable 5 – The Senator’s Speech

cable
Effect of the Submarine Cable by John Leech

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Transatlantic Cable 5 – The Senator’s Speech

Does it seem, I say,
All but the most incredible
A slender copper wire is stretched
Across two thousand miles ?
Across the all-but-fathomless,
Where humans cannot penetrate,
There spans a thread across the sea
To link our distant isles.

Does it seem, I say,
All but a miracle of art
That thoughts of living men
In the cheerful light of day,
About the markets and the seasons,
And elections, and the wars,
And tender nothings from our lives,
Should manifest this way ?

Does it seem, I say,
All but the most remarkable
These thoughts should clothe themselves
In such an elemental spark,
And shoot with fiery speed
In a moment, in a twinkling,
From hemisphere to hemisphere,
Through vast abyssal dark ?

Does it seem, I say,
All but the work of genius
That through such nether oceans
Streams of thoughts should race and leap ?
Among the uncouth monsters,
Along the wreck-paved floor,
And throughout the oozy dungeons
Of the silent, rayless deep.

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Transatlantic Cable 4 – The Visionary

mertz
Mertz #18 by John Morra

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Transatlantic Cable 4 – The Visionary

The venture-prizer – that was the man
Who knew not a jot about the telegraph –
But don’t yet laugh, he had a plan.

In 1851, he knew a cable could be run
Beneath the Channel, shore-to-shore –
Because it had been done the year before.

More than likely, if not him,
Then someone else would chance their limb,
But it was he who seized the circumstance.

By 1865, his crazy dream had come alive,
With Yankee pluck (and maybe madness too) –
His luck ran good and bad, but he ran true.

Some say that history is just a few great men –
But then, what of the sailors and the bankers and the bureaucrats,
The cable-makers and the engineers and the diplomats ?

But nevertheless, perhaps it also takes the skill
Of a charismatic hope and an unshakable will –
This world is changed and made anew by those who do.

Someone needs to shout above the scrum,
To point out to the hum-a-drum
That this idea’s time has come.

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Transatlantic Cable 3 – Slow News Days

seaport
A Seaport at Sunset by Claude Gellée

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Transatlantic Cable 3 – Slow News Days

Once, the gossip only moved
As fast as anyone could walk,
Or gallop, if there were a need
To hurry-up the speed of talk.
The fastest was the pigeon post,
As long as messages were short.
But once the ocean vast was reached,
Then all those means would count for naught.

Despite the wings, despite the hooves,
Despite the engineers,
We’ve not advanced the speed of news
These past two thousand years.

So letters, treaties, plans and briefs
Must make their way together
As slowly, slowly, boat by boat,
They risk the waves and weather.
The urgent and the leisurely
Arrive still side by side,
Yet over land we’d have them there
As fast as we can ride.

Despite the ships, despite the crews,
Despite the steam and gears,
We’ve not advanced the speed of news
These past two thousand years.

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Transatlantic Cable 2 – Emigrants’ Song

ellis island
Liberty Island from Ellis Island by Sandra Nardone

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Transatlantic Cable 2 – Emigrants’ Song

Dear Dad,
There’s just so much I have to tell you,
Just so much that I have seen…
…Dear Sis,
I hope you’re keeping well,
I’m keeping fit and fed and clean…
…My darling Anne,
Oh how I miss you still,
I hope your married life is good…
…My best mate Dan,
And all the lads a’t’mill,
Is there someone else where I once stood ?…
…Dear Mum…
…Mijn lieve Klara…
…Bonne-maman…
….A Seán, a chara…
…Take these words, they’re all we’ve got,
They’ll cross the sea as we cannot…
…Cari saluti…
…Bester grus…
…Todo mi amor…
…Mit einem Kuss…

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Musical AI version generated by Suno.com – find more of them over here.

Transatlantic Cable 1 – The Wake

jane
Jane & The Prisoner of Woolhouse by Kinuko Craft

Transatlantic Cable 1 – The Wake

The sea is wide, my son, so wide,
And the wind is free, so free –
The sea is long to the other side,
And the currents strong on the Westward tide.
Don’t tarry here because I cried –
Your boat is at the quay.

The land is big, I hear, so big,
The boat is small, is she –
But you must leave aboard this brig,
To seek out better roots to dig.
I know you won’t return, my sprig –
You won’t return to me.

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Musical AI version generated by Suno.com – find more of them over here.

Happy Birthday – 2nd draft

Tomorrow is this daily poetry adventure’s second anniversary, and have I got a treat for you !

Several years ago, a friend of mine was devising a piece of amateur theatre which I stage-managed, based around the laying of the first ocean-spanning telegraph cable in 1858.  His work was pretty experimental, but he had wanted it to be a musical of sorts and there were a couple of songs in it.  All of which got me thinking about writing a sequence of lyrics around the topic, a sort of soundtrack album to a film that never got made.

I should mention that that first cable failed after only three weeks and had to be replaced in 1866, but don’t look to these poems for too much historical detail.  There’s some, but it’s not a documentary.  And anyway, it’s dramatically more satisfying to imagine it as a single event with a false dawn and speedy follow-up.

So, starting tomorrow and continuing over the subsequent twelve days I present to you the
The Transatlantic Cable !

Sudden Death

no gate

Sudden Death

The game goes on, despite the news,
Despite the empty stands –
No pre-match build up now, of course,
No captains shaking hands.
With silence as the coin is tossed,
But not born of suspense –
Then the ref’s whistle deafens
But you couldn’t call it tense.
The sound of boot-on-ball
And teammate calls are very clear
Even from the back row,
Has the action felt so near ?
Except, from our separate sofas
On this long, long afternoon,
They might as well be playing
On the far side of the Moon.
The empty seating does not care
What happens down the wing
And though the cameras catch it all,
Their ops don’t want to sing.
Like a stand-up cracking belters in rehearsal
To an empty hall,
The elephant in the stadium’s
Not trumpeting at all.
A goal is barely celebrated,
No-one’s bellicose –
Their tackles are half-hearted,
They’re unsure of getting close.
A pigeon pecks the touchline
And the players work their shift –
As if the world has changed the channel,
Cutting them adrift.
It all feels rather academic,
Pondering the score –
For does a lonely goal still count
If no-one’s there to roar ?