Thoughts of the day
I have recently been thinking about Atlas, the mythological Titan who carried the weight of the sky on his shoulders for eternity, and how Atlas represents most of us today, trying to keep the sky from falling.
In my research, I came across a poem by U. A. Fanthorpe, which presents Atlas in an entirely different, almost unexpected light. Here, Atlas is a representation of love, the type of love that is found in daily intimacies, and the unimportant acts we tend to overlook.
As always, through its limited and carefully chosen range of words, poetry gently nudges us to pay attention to the fragments of daily living that make up a life.
Atlas
There is a kind of love called maintenance
Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it;
Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget
The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;
Which answers letters; which knows the way
The money goes; which deals with dentists
And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,
And postcards to the lonely; which upholds
The permanently rickety elaborate
Structures of living, which is Atlas.
And maintenance is the sensible side of love,
Which knows what time and weather are doing
To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;
Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers
My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps
My suspect edifice upright in air,
As Atlas did the sky.
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