Bellows: Refining Technique
I took a trip up to the windmill,
looking over the town from Corberry hill,
no millstones now grinding our oats,
but a glazed monument of memories.
I came to the anvil, with its tools,
in order to sit, to look, to draw
and forge its bellows anew,
with fluxed carbon and wood.
I made my attempt,
it was rough-made, crude,
burned black in places,
badly warped, ill-wrought.
I returned in two years,
when some skill had been learnt,
a refinement was made,
time-polished and good.
Better material
and greater control,
it was folded and heated,
made stronger and light.
Created anew,
with help from the old,
in the course of an hour
pencil gave breath to the past.
John McKay
Astronomy Night, Dumfries Museum
Star man is a reluctant tattooist,
dips pan scrub in water
presses it flat,
transfers Yuri Gagarin
from paper to skin.
Yuri shines and dries
looks to the skies
from his flight path:
the arm span of a five year old,
keen on space.
Star man can’t recall
much about being five,
explains a first telescopic glance
of Jupiter’s moons blinking
back at scraps of life.
Now conversation turns
on Saturn’s rings, infinity,
stilted by the strangeness
of this old new acquaintance,
transient as tonight’s sky.
by Gillian Mellor
Deep Mapping Dumfries 