JOHN WILKINSON

The instrument maker

19

Look at his hands. You wouldn‘t think, would you, That they were the most expressive part of him? To you, I suppose, as to most other people, They seem an ordinary pair of hands; (A little large, perhaps, for an instrument maker‘s), Where oil and calluses have settled in so deeply As to seem no longer an outward graft, But the scarred surface of a mineral outcrop. An ordinary pair of hands, the kind You overlook every day of your life. But, if you can get close enough to see That callus, spreading from not quite the centre of The palm of his right hand, thickening rather Toward the heel, it will tell you a lot About the way he holds his tools, the way He shapes up to a piece of metal, and thus - If you understand me - the way he thinks. Not that I call it ‘thinking’, mind. To me, Most of what we call ’thought’ is the blind progress Of the organism towards a temporary Sense of rightness with itself and, perhaps, With something beyond itself. And this we dignlfy With the name ’Enlightenment’. Some people Achieve it while they exercise their brains; Therefore they will tell you that they have thought Their way to this particular state. Others Achieve it with their hands. Do you see that groove Running down the tip of his right forefinger? That comes of using a Swiss file. You’ll see, When he picks one up, how snug it fits Into that groove - almost as if his finger Had been born like that. Look! What did I tell you? Now see the way he begins, caressing. tentative, Until his hands have caught the natural rhythm Of the metal. Now! Do you see how evenly The filings trickle off at every stroke? And - do you notice? - he isn’t really looking At the file? That man sees with his hands;

20 Critical Quarterly, vol. 22, no. 3

Hands that could coax the ultimate precision Out of a piece of metal. You know, sometimes, Watching them, I get the strangest feeling That they are on the point of bringing to birth Something totally unexpected. And then It's as if I had intruded on someone At his prayers. Perhaps, in a way, I have; All the greatest engineers are mystics.

Poetry competition 1980 The results of our 1980 poetry competition for young people are as follows:

First prize of f 30 to Carol Butler of Bangor, Gwynedd, for 'The telegraph pole'.

Second prize of f 20 to Stephen McCarty of Urmston for' 'Decline'. Third prize off 10 to Matthew J. Smith of Southwell for 'Meeting Michele'.