The Ice Cart

I ski the slopes in winter’s chill,
The July snow is blinding bright.
I sweep and swerve at will.
I ski the slopes in winter’s chill,
The knife-edged wind is sharp and shrill,
Beneath the fading evening light.
I ski the slopes in winter’s chill,
The July snow’s no longer bright. 

 

The Inspiration

The Ice-Cart


An ice man with his cart, London, 1926-1927. From Wonderful London, volume II, edited by Arthur St John Adcock, published by Amalgamated Press (London, 1926-1927).
 Perched on my city office-stool,
 I watched with envy, while a cool
 And lucky carter handled ice. . . .
 And I was wandering in a trice,
 Far from the grey and grimy heat
 Of that intolerable street,
 O'er a sapphire berg and emerald floe,
 Beneath the still, cold ruby glow
 Of everlasting Polar night,
 Bewildered by the queer half-light,
 Until I stumbled, unawares,
 Upon a creek where big white bears
 Plunged headlong down with flourished heels
 And floundered after shining seals
 Through shivering seas of blinding blue.
 And as I watched them, ere I knew,
 I'd stripped, and I was swimming too,
 Among the seal-pack, young and hale,
 And thrusting on with threshing tail,
 With twist and twirl and sudden leap
 Through crackling ice and salty deep --
 Diving and doubling with my kind,
 Until, at last, we left behind
 Those big, white, blundering bulks of death,
 And lay, at length, with panting breath
 Upon a far untravelled floe,
 Beneath a gentle drift of snow --
 Snow drifting gently, fine and white,
 Out of the endless Polar night,
 Falling and falling evermore
 Upon that far untravelled shore,
 Till I was buried fathoms deep
 Beneath the cold white drifting sleep --
 Sleep drifting deep,
 Deep drifting sleep. . . .
The carter cracked a sudden whip:
I clutched my stool with startled grip.
Awakening to the grimy heat
Of that intolerable street.

W. W. Gibson

This “summer triolet” W3#221 via Selma and The Skeptics’s Kaddish leads me to winter down under. If W.W. Gibson can transport a sweltering City clerk to the polar regions to swim with polar bears — then I can go skiing in the Australian Alps in July.

13 thoughts on “The Ice Cart”

  6. Aww. Nice. Now I can see where to leave a comment. Must have been a temporary glitch. (This the reason I left my comment on David’s website)

    “If W.W. Gibson can transport a sweltering City clerk to the polar regions to swim with polar bears — then I can go skiing in the Australian Alps in July.” Yes you can! And invoking this is something I embrace. Thanks for the gorgeous opportunity you offered me to tag along and feel the coolness. Love how the triolet shows the passage of time in the last line. Beautiful. Doubly thanks for introducing me to Wilfrid Wilson Gibson’s poem “The Ice Cart”. XO, tremendous! Selma.

    Reply

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