Frank Lloyd Wright
and his falling water. Masses
of concrete cantilevered,
and extending outwards
like hands reaching- symbiosis.
But I’m no Frank
and dreams might be
my little fingers clasping
hard and pushing pencils
for somebody else’s utopia.
The hewn boulders of rock
resisting the foundation
on which this grand design sits,
I bear the weight of expectations.
Balancing upon the scales
on which the measure of cement
is mixed in sand and water.
The lapping over of slates into a bond.
The forward thrust of hammer to nails.
The tightening of ties around stirrups.
The alternate laying of the roof decking.
And the network of drain pipes,
cables and ducting, and waterlines
resembling the veins and sinews
of the building’s skeleton. I build
a symbol- the framework of the mind.
The genius envisions an edifice
in his intellectual acrobatics,
justifying to the world the modern-
reality that build themselves on paper.
Summoning the masons to lay
its plaster to newly cured blocks.
The painter to swab the walls
in fresh coats. The decorator
sets the chairs, the beds,
the mirrors and the tables.
The vases and layers of curtains.
The lifeless sculpture pieces
and paintings hanged to the walls.
Fixing rolls of wallpaper and carpets
over polished granite floors.
The carpenter assembling
cabinet boxes, ledges and shelves.
The windows fitted to the sills.
And the doors hanged on frames.
The location of the chandelier.
Installing wooden slabs on stairs.
The green patinated balustrades.
The landscaper to plant shrubs, and ferns
and vines and trees and patch of grass.
The water fountains and the waterfall
arranged mimicking a natural set-up.
But I ‘m no Frank.
The hours stretched for miles and miles.
The drafting table becoming wet with fog
until the first hours of the morning.
I can hear the mad conversations
of the vellum and the graphite saying,
“deadline nears, it’s almost here”.
I applaud you, Marvin!!!!! This is great. I read it three times and have a portrait in my mind, the architect. My very favorite lines are: “The genius envisions an edifice in his intellectual acrobatics, justifying to the world the modern-reality that build themselves on paper.” and “I can hear the mad conversations of the vellum and the graphite”. You ARE so good, you know.
dear leslie,
yes, you are absolutely right, it is the face of the many architects toiling the drawing boards to make the dream building happen. i’m thrilled to know that you like this poem, something that is specially endearing to me because i am an architect too by profession. i always believed that writing poetry makes me a better architect. and i am utterly glad that this poem is one of the finest way to start my new year with gusto. godspeed to you and thank you so much for your generous applause 🙂