“Melt”

We recently ran a prehistoric bronze casting workshop with Creeping Toad – who has captured the moment in his poem, ‘Melt’.

Don’t splash,
Don’t spill,
Contain the excitement as the crucible lifts,
A magma pool in a mug.
Glowing,
Glowing,
I understand Incandescence now.

Shaped in sand and oil,
Pressed and hammered,
Malleted into form
And bound,
A dungeon for a trickle of dragon blood,
Or maybe a chalice to receive the waters of the sun.

It’s over in a moment.
A long, slow pulsing burn,
Sighing bellows,
Well-worked muscles.
A long, slow melt,
A long, slow gathering of hope,
Determination.
The fierce intention of ceremony in this.
Concentration,
Concentrated consideration.
Watch,
Wait.
Listen to the hot breathing of leather lungs.

Charcoal glows,
Building heat upon heat,
It must build, it must grow,
The heat must hold
To incubate an infant sun.
We know what we are doing,
Well taught.
The promise held and guided.
We are told, informed,
Photographed.
Sensible 21st century people, us,
And we can feel the wonder,
Sense the enchantment,
The sheer excitement of metal melting.

We pour our molten bronze
A brief libation to Vulcan, to Hephaestus
To the Dwarves who shaped the Brisingamen
To Goibniu in the Hollow Hills
To Wayland in his Smithy
No wonder blacksmiths became special people.

And in seconds,
We’ve poured.
Fire drawn into metal.
We’ve cracked the mould.
We’ve cooled the bronze,
And in seconds,
It lies.
Treasure and glory and wonder,
In our hands.

Read more and see pictures from the day at Creeping Toad’s blog below:

http://creepingtoad.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/shaping-bronze.html

 

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