Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Not since Bobby Burns and his fatal plow, has there been
a more important poetic tool. Pens write poems, and
paper, too, is essential, but lawnmowers are le raison
d’etre. More powerful than a broom, less cumbersome than
an oar, the lawnmower is the black angel of the Dead
Animal School of Poetry. Metaphorical toads and chipmunks
quiver at its redundant siren. The grass bends over, as
if diving into the ground. Stop for a moment and think of
the appeal of the Andy Hardy of lawnmowers. It is designed
for poets prone to childhood nostalgia and confessionalism.
The power mower, like the bulldog, is small, muscular, and
unflinching. It gets the job done in a way lending to ter-
seness of statement. These are only a few of the various
models, each uniquely vengeful as a Greek god.

   Scholars have also noticed that lawnmowers, when not grind-
ing small animals, are often the substance of the poetic
image: (1) “Where mist rarifies even the lawnmower.” (2)
“He sings from the bottom of a lawnmower.” (3) “From the
lawnmowers he would extract some stained milk.” One need
only browse through an anthology to verify their prevalence.
The serious poet can only hope that moderation will be used,
lest the lawnmower become as hackneyed a symbol as the rose
or the moon.

   An issue under discussion at the next meeting of the Modern
Poetry Association will be a one-year moratorium on the use
of lawnmowers in poems. There is a powerful lobby against
the bill and members can expect a heated debate. Meanwhile,
the lawnmower hums on, familiar to us as the sound of slave
galley oars to ancient fish.

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