It would seem, from the sound of it, slang
In Her Majesty’s Navy, say, circa
Trafalgar”the deckhand whose job was
To heave-ho the anchor aboard,
The chain like a slain sea serpent?
Collecting in coils behind him.
Or maybe a meteor fragment,
Some glittery space-coal without
Any real industrial uses”
A novelty, anchorite, sold
In the rock-box next to the quartzes
At a science museum gift shop.
You would never imagine it wanted
To sail in the other direction,
A rare earth dreaming of heaven
And pulling its rosary beads
Like the links in a chain that leads
To the sea floor, and the iron that anchors it.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
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If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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