tanım: oliver st. john gogarty'e ait bir şiir.

time, gentlemen, time

o would not life be charming

could we get rid of clocks,

the still ones and alarming

that break on sleep with shocks?

then it would be respected

and worthier far of man

than when by springs directed

from gold or a tin can.

why should man's life be reckoned

by anything so queer

as that which splits the second

but cannot tell the year?

ıf we got rid of watches

the trains would cease to run,

we could not fight a battle-ship

or aim a battle gun,

nor tune the little engines

which fill the towns with fumes

and send men with a vengeance

(quite rightly) to their tombs.

ıf we got rid of watches

and wanted to approach

the pallid peopled cities

we'd have to hire a coach

and guard, who, to arouse us,

so hardy in the morn,

outside the licensed houses

would blow a long bright horn.

our stars know naught of watches,

there's not a wind that wists

of mischief that time hatches

when handcuffed to our wrists.

no wonder stars are winking,

no wonder heaven mocks

at men who cease from drinking

good booze because of clocks!

'twould make a devil chortle

to see how all the clean

free souls god made immortal

must march to a machine.

ıt makes me wonder whether

ın this grim pantomime

did fiend or man first blether:

“time, gentlemen, time!”

we must throw out the timing

that turns men into gnomes,

of piece-work and of miming

that fills the mental homes.

we must get rid of errors,

and tallies and time checks,

and all the slavish terrors

that turn men into wrecks.

they have not squared the circle,

they have not cubed the sphere,

their calendars all work ill

corrected by “leap” year.

but we should all be leaping

as high as hollyhocks

did we desist from keeping

our trysts with slaves of clocks.

how should we tell the seconds?

the time a blackbird takes,

to screech across a lane-way,

and dive into the brakes.

how should we tell the minutes?

the time it takes to swipe

a lonely pint of guinness,

or load a friendly pipe.

o make the heart time's measure

because, the more it beats,

the more life fills with pleasure,

with songs or sturdy feats;

our clocks our lives are cheating,

they go, and ground we give;

the higher the heart's beating,

the higher then we live.

(kansas city aldatmacasi - 19 Aralık 2018 22:18)