Frank Oliver Call imagines a foundry not as a workplace but as a scene of monstrous birth. Iron and coal are sleeping creatures stirred awake by a poisonous scarlet breath. They hiss, writhe, and spew molten metal in streams like fiery serpents. From those reeking pools a new “brood” emerges—black, strong, beautiful. There is awe here, even admiration for the power and strange beauty of industrial creation. But the speaker quickly turns away, exhausted. The closing lines feel like a longing for clean air and open sky above the smoke-clouds. The short, jagged lines make the foundry feel alive, dangerous, and almost unbearably hot. The mood is heavy and mythic: part nightmare, part reluctant wonder. It captures the violent energy of the foundry and the human need to escape its suffocating world.
The Foundry — Summary
Two monsters, Iron and Coal, Sleep in the darkness. A poisonous scarlet breath blows over them, And they awake hissing and writhing, And spew forth blood-red vomit In streams like fiery serpents. Then from the reeking pools A monstrous brood is born, Black, strong, beautiful. But we turn away our tired eyes, And try to find the sky above the smoke-clouds.