Ippolit Konovaloff, a Russian gunsmith, tells how he fled Odessa after police arrested his reading group for studying Spencer. In America he settles in Spoon River, where he can read Kant and repair guns in peace. The second half of the poem is his odd, thoughtful meditation on the molds he uses for gun parts. If every gunsmith had only identical molds, he says, all guns would act exactly alike—each working for itself and against every other, trapped in sameness. Only a Moulder with different molds could reshape the metal. It’s a parable about conformity, freedom, and individuality: people, like guns, need different shaping influences or they become mechanical copies. The speaker feels like a wry, weary intellectual, quietly proud of his craft and grateful for his escape. The mood is calm, reflective, and tinged with irony.
Ippolit Konovaloff — Summary
I was a gun-smith in Odessa. One night the police broke in the room Where a group of us were reading Spencer. And seized our books and arrested us. But I escaped and came to New York And thence to Chicago, and then to Spoon River, Where I could study my Kant in peace And eke out a living repairing guns Look at my moulds! My architectonics One for a barrel, one for a hammer And others for other parts of a gun! Well, now suppose no gun-smith living Had anything else but duplicate moulds Of these I show you—well, all guns Would be just alike, with a hammer to hit The cap and a barrel to carry the shot All acting alike for themselves, and all Acting against each other alike. And there would be your world of guns! Which nothing could ever free from itself Except a Moulder with different moulds To mould the metal over.