The Conway Stewart
"Medium," 14-carat nib,
Three gold bands in the clip-on screw-top,
In the mottled barrel a spatulate, thin
Pump-action lever
The shopkeeper
Demonstrated,
The nib uncapped,
Treating it to its first deep snorkel
In a newly opened ink-bottle,
Guttery, snottery,
Letting it rest then at an angle
To ingest,
Giving us time
To look together and away
From our parting, due that evening,
To my longhand
"Dear"
To them, next day.
2 comments:
Fountain pens are loyal beasts. They wait for you, GG.
Thanks Damon, glad they do, the ink has dried out in most of them.
by the way, heard Heaney quote this poem on The Guardian podcast - sublime, his voice is like Guinness
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