The buzz saw snarled...

There is a passage in Shakespeare’s play Macbeth, where our hero (or perhaps villain?), whilst in the throws of guilt, paranoia and grief, having murdered King Duncan, openly questions the very meaning or purpose of any of our lives and concludes that they are, each and every one, insignificant:

Out, out brief candle, Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player... told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing

And indeed these first two words, ‘Out, out’ appear again, later in the play, when his cohort, Lady Macbeth, complicit in the deed, struggles to wash the blood from her own hands:

‘Out damned spot. Out I say!’

These are the two small words chosen by one of America’s most celebrated poets, four time Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Lee Frost, as the title of one of his finest works, ‘Out, Out’. And, baring in mind the significance and magnitude of Macbeth’s assertion with the above outcry, in observing the sudden worthlessness of life which might be snuffed out as simply as a candle, and leave utterly nothing in it’s wake, I would suggest, given the content of Frost’s poem, his choice for his title was an inspired one!

‘Out, Out’ is a harsh, hefty poem, 34 lines of open verse without visible structure (but does flow with a beautiful sound and meter), which deals with a farmhouse accident in a remote part of New England.

The poet uses a speaker, not necessarily himself, as the overseer and commentator for us, on the death of a young boy following an incident with a circular saw. The poem has a real sense of menace, of foreboding, almost of a Hitchcock nature, like we are hoping nothing nasty is going to happen, but fear the very worst before much longer, before the boy is called to his supper, when day is done.

The circular saw seems to be the focal point of the painting of words. It’s dominating presence is there from the opening line, and it’s description is more akin, in that part of the world to perhaps a threatening bear or wolf? And as the commentary progresses, it’s prominence more keenly felt.

And the buzz saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled... And nothing happened: day was all but done.

Call it a day, I wish they might have said’

The watcher is emotionally dragged into the poem, and likewise the reader. We want the boy to get to the end of the day without disaster, without loss, without any real encounter with the enemy. We find him so very close to the safety that is the kitchen at day’s end. But the enemy strikes at the final moment.

Just as he is called to supper, in a fatal second, the blade all but removes his hand. The doctor is called, the pleading boy sedated, and, alas, the hand removed. It is like a scene from a medical tent during the American Civil War, or perhaps on the front line during The Great War, and the description of the boy, doing the work of a man, although still a child at heart, mirrors what happens in war, all too often, to all too many. And particularly in this case, because the action of the doctor is too late, and the boy bleeds to death. And only in the final line do we see the full harshness of the poem, the raw emotional disconnect, which echoes the words of Macbeth, and stresses no real value on life, particularly in retrospect. The lookers on, return to their duties and take up where they left off.

‘They listened at his heart. Little - less - nothing! - and that ended it. ... and they, since they were not the dead one, turned to their affairs’

So much of the work of Robert Frost deals with the difficulties and misfortunes of rural life. The pain and the suffering of work versus death, and of life versus work. With the tone set as early as the title with this poem, we can appreciate his intent, but only ponder his sadness, his anger or his despair.

John J Kelly is a multiple award-winning poet from Enniscorthy. He is the co-founder of the Anthony Cronin Poetry Award with the Wexford Literary Festival and co-ordinator of poetry workshops for schools locally.

Each week, John’s column will deal mainly with novels, plays and poems from both the Leaving Certificate syllabus and Junior Certificate syllabus. kellyjj02@gmail.com