The author of this poem has given me permission to
post it here.
It's all true. He bought the car new from the factory
and kept it for 4 years.
Enjoy......
--------------------
1965 LAND ROVER
I've never been divorced, but understand
The disillusion, broken faith, distrust
That won't be exorcised,but reappear
In times of sickness, stress, extended siege
By clouds and rain and fog, extreme fatigue,
Abuse from friends, professional defeat,
News bulletins of famine, murder, rape,
Failures of students, budget deficits,
That all reconjure greater traumas past.
For me, the traitorous partner that's recalled
When spirits are depressed's a damned machine
I once believed in, while experience,
Disproving ardent loyalty, informed
I was deceived. A vehicle that seemed
The quintessential functional device
Proved unreliable in every way
Conceivable and inconceivable.
The general census of corruption proves
No part escaped. Most seals and gaskets failed
(Cylinder head, exhaust pipe, steering box,
Axles, brakes, carburettor, idler, valves ).
The water pump collapsed. Five hoses burst.
The generator twice was overhauled.
The rear-view mirror shook. The battery
Lasted a year, dissolving its own leads.
Oil was required each time that gas was bought
Until all bearings failed. A hole was burned
Through an exhaust valve, when the guarantee
Had just expired. Idling was never smooth.
Distributor connections all were loose,
Corroded and with shredded rubber boots;
Its vacuum piping wheezed and bearing flakes,
Evilly coiled, spewed up around its shaft.
The starter stuck. The carburettor base
Had to be remachined. The many links
Connecting pedal crank to throttle jammed
Or fell apart and had to be cleaned up
Each month or so. The disassembling clutch
Had little wear, but feeble rivets' heads
Were soon pried loose to let the core explode.
The half-shafts sheared, gear levers came adrift.
The main leaf broke in one front spring, the rear
Shackles wore slots where round holes should have been.
The bonnet would not latch. The wheel wrench bent.
The fuel filter strangely gathered sand.
Steering was loose, until the dealer learned
To tighten it, but when a broken spring
Had been rebuilt, erratically prone
To violent vibration, like the seats.
Tires rubbed on springs. The radiator came
Loose from its mountings. Brakes were squishy, leaked
Or else siezed up. Corroded brake lines turned
To mere disintegrating porous sieves.
Locks rusted up. The rear frame rotted through.
The "special " chassis paint all peeled away
In the first winter, leaving pickled steel.
Nuts and screws freed themselves erratically.
Rain trickled in to soak the driver's legs
And filled the tool box. Three new fuel tanks
Were needed, and the last appeared to drip.
Wiper controls and rearmost seats fell off.
The shrieking, wild speedometer annoyed
While warning lights, switches and gauges failed.
The handbrake, quite impossible to grasp
With winter gloves, rarely would hold on hills
And gathered mud while cylinders seized up.
Visits to dealers led to special treats
Like missing fan belts, gaskets misaligned
Or not replaced, fluids that rotted seals
And bad advice, like fabricating springs
Because delivery from England took
So many months. The New York office sent
Reluctant representatives who gave
Careless instructions, as to tighten up
The lubricant's main line, that then leaked worse,
Lacking a gasket at its interface.
Only The Palace cared. Prince Philip wrote,
"Did everything go wrong ?". The Company
Dismissed with pious incredulity
All proferred information and complaint.
I switched to a variety of car
That went four times as far, with little fuss.
Since many years have passed, why do I still
At times obsessively recall these things
That can't be altered ? Something unresolved
Still nags: a childish wish for adult toys ?
My parents' severed love, in hope transferred
To gadgets symbolising constancy ?
My own career in engineering, torn
Between two duties: nurture, culture, debt
And need for growth and opportunity ?
Some stubborn, fond reluctance to forget
Old fables taught at school in Empire days:
Heroic explorations, battles won
In foreign parts - despite the evidence
Of Scott's incompetence and unredeemed
Slaughter of thousands at Gallipoli ?
Perhaps some psychologic need is served
By thus recalling formative events
That shaped the present personality
And might be, accurately written down
In neat, precise, encapsulated form,
Transferred to less involved posterity.
1/10/93
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