Notes on The Yellow Forklift by Sam Pink
Everyone’s got their thing.
And for me, it’s the yellow forklift.
Impression: Sam Pink brings a voice of a common man in his natural habitat like many attempt to do. The Bukowskiesque scent of vomit and cheap scotch has been replaced by an acrid industrial miasma of warehouse floors, old engines, exhaust fumes and sweat (and piss). A delightfully written poetry I plan to read more of.
I got The Yellow Forklift directly from Sam and I don’t know if there’s anywhere else to get it — I apologize if calling him Sam seems overly familiar, I just feel weird typing Mr. Pink. I don’t remember exactly how I came across Sam, it was a random retweet of him offering signed copies of his book Witch Piss. I looked him up and his work seemed interesting, so I contacted him and paid for a copy. After a few weeks of no book I sent a note and Sam soon replied that he’d send a copy of another book of my choosing (I chose Ketchup) for the oversight. When they arrived, there was also enclosed a copy of a little booklet, The Yellow Forklift. All signed. Thank you so much Sam, they’re beautiful!
Every working person on earth has some idiot thing that irritates them at work. Some task or act you must perform that either doesn’t work right, a needlessly redundant insult to one’s time or just plain ill conceived — some thing, and if you tried to explain it someone they’d probably listen politely but they don’t have any idea what the fuck you’re on about. The Yellow Forklift is one of those things.
It’s more than that though, of course, because the everyman working person is you and me. We are not just our work, though we tend to make our work into part of our identity. We have dreams and whimsies. We think about reality, the universe and our place in it, and we have a job to do today despite that thing. We think much of our own self awareness, and the narrator has a lot of fun sharing his own understanding of his place in the universe.
He does not seek to be more than he is, he has no quest for power over anything but his thing. He seems to enjoy his world and his work, he feels he’s serving the world performing what some might call a menial task. He ascribes a primitive elemental quality to it, the “bringing of rain,” the “pouring forth.”
It seems like our working hero is being a bit overdramatic at times about his work and life, but what he does is important, isn’t it? In our concentrated technological culture we take for granted things like providing water. Water is everywhere, right? The bringing of water is an ancient job, a hard job, and the most necessary for survival. Water is life, and the narrator understands this, too, and this understanding extends to those around him. When faced with someone in a state that alarms him, he takes it in stride and provides freely. A man performing his ancient duty for his community.
A great song of every day life that you should read. It’ll lift your soul and make you smile.
