ABSTRACT
W H Auden believed engines were beautiful things. In Carpenter (1981), there is a photograph of the poet at six years old with arms draped over a metal railing, eyes gazing down into the Rhayader water-works. The fact that the machines never answered back, but merely let the small boy adore them, was a huge point in their favour for the mature poet. His generation of poets famously celebrated railways, pylons and buildings. The stillness and strength of efficient machinery has a charm and power for most young children. The bicycle It sounds like a bee buzzing a snake hissing a rattlesnake hissing its tail a motor car a woodpecker pecking a tree a horse trotting the pitter-patter of a mouse raindrops rattling on the windows The round wheel is spiky It looks like a spinning wheel the sun is shining a bang! the windows of a little wooden house an eye with a pupil in the middle When it’s spinning it looks like a drill a bit of machine whirling around an eye going around The spokes look like they are not there They are invisible They disappear They vanish The chain looks like the things bees keep honey in —a honeycomb!
