This is a poem I wrote for my husband, Kelly Ludeking. He is a sculptor who works with bronze, aluminum and iron to create cast artwork. This weekend is the Ninth Annual Down on the Farm Iron Pour on the Ludeking family farm in NE Iowa so I wanted to honor his work by sharing the poem. If you ever have an opportunity to attend an iron pour, GO! Describing it does no justice. It must be seen. Occasionally, I participate in these events, wearing the dirty brown leathers or the newer safety gear “silver suit.” Standing in a shower of molten iron every now and again, seems to balance my water sign.
The Caste of CastCast ironmongers dance about me They are rabid for fire to melt the metal that makes manifest their sickness This curious group of people with dirty brown leathers heavy steel-toed boots and graphite war-painted faces travel far and wide to spy the orange glow of liquid iron They wait for the call to iron They recognize it as goose bumps crawling over their skull To deny the query Is to forsake their true inheritance Cast ironmongers dance about me Alone in their iron tribe Together in their aloneness The temple of their creative soulness – by Diane Ludeking