In “Fuel,” Lola Ridge sets art against the overwhelming noise of war and industry. The silent piano keys and broken violin bows suggest that music and beauty have stopped mattering; what remains is the “singing” of iron and the endless turning of fly-wheels. The speaker’s voice is urgent, almost harsh, telling someone to throw “artist-lumber” and “foolish dreams of making things” onto the fire. The parenthetical line—“Ten million men are called to die”—explains why: with mass death looming, making art can feel like a pointless luxury. But the last lines complicate that feeling. The speaker looks at ordinary working people who have no time for books or art and asks what dreams they have to hide from death—a question that implies they have none. The mood is bitter, grief-stricken, and conflicted, mixing anger at art’s uselessness with sympathy for those who never had access to it.
Fuel — Summary
What of the silence of the keys And silvery hands? The iron sings... Though bows lie broken on the strings, The fly-wheels turn eternally...
Bring fuel--drive the fires high... Throw all this artist-lumber in And foolish dreams of making things... (Ten million men are called to die.)
As for the common men apart, Who sweat to keep their common breath, And have no hour for books or art-- What dreams have these to hide from death!