I wouldn’t be surprised if you just look at the title
and think; Coffee Pot! What is there to say about such a
seemingly everyday object?
And I would understand you, but please stay with me a little
longer through this post.
In my About page I hint that there will be stories coming
that show vignettes of my life both in England and Sweden.
O.K. , I can hear your frustrated sigh, so why a Coffee Pot?
This Copper Coffee Pot is very old, goes back to my
Grandfather’s days. It was an important part of the men’s life
and I am now the caretaker, until such time that it passes to the
next generation. It has pride of place and I often tell the stories
that were told to me, hence giving my children a feeling of their
ancestors.
The poem below came to me as I was polishing it one day
and all was abandoned for the notepad and pen.
Copper Coffee Pot
An inanimate object it might seem,
Yet, is it really so?
Emotions stirred by the Pot,
The Copper Coffee Pot,
say no.
Polishing this morning,
its surface filled;
With lustre and life lived.
It had sailed the Sea, in storms,
in hurricanes,
also in still, smiling swells.
For seven men it brewed every day,
Gave warmth and cheer,
clattered its spout lid to say;
Coffee ready, take a break.
Men with strength of body and heart,
with purpose and skill;
In tune with the elements each day,
feeling the mood of the Sea.
Respecting and honouring,
Its power, its gifts.
Their work was heavy,
cold, among waves,
Full trawls spread smiles.
No-one minding the tearing of
sinews, muscles and backs.
In this age old task.
These men were my ancestors,
part of who I am, and I of them.
Their lives, their hands had touched me,
Given me strength.
The Copper Pot in my hands
A cherished and vital part
of their days.
Here they met, found warmth,
succour and laughs.
An empowering friend.
© miriam ivarson
All photographs © miriam ivarson
My Window 
Its so true about inanimate objects that have been passed through generations. When you hold them in your hands you can sense the presence of those who have held and used it in the past. We are the product of the generations that have gone before us, and objects such as a copper coffe pot are links back to them. I have some things that were given to me by my grandfather when I was a child (now a long time ago) together with the stories he told me about their history, and every time I look at them I think of him. Very precious indeed.
As I once heard said, if you don’t know where you came from, how do you know where you are going…..
Mike
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Thank you for your wise comment Mike, it rings so kind and warm.
It is so lovely how you describe your inherited treasures.
Indeed we are living in the now but without our roots it is harder to reach
upwards and forwards.
Miriam
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Miriam, this is beautiful and reminds me of Blake, “to see the world in a grain of sand”. For how many objects do we cast aside that behold such memories and life in them still. And what better object to behold this magic than a copper coffee pot to show us the multitudes of people who drank from its brew so they could master another day.
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Thank you JC, I am so glad you found the poem beautiful and I hope the seajourney didn’t make you seasick.:)
As to Blake’s comment I would then see the world through stones of granite, they do have strong vibrations.
The coffee was strong and gave a good kick and there were many laughs around the table.
miriam
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It’s an overused phrase, but “Wooden Ships and Iron Men” is really appropriate here. The generations that used that coffee-pot really were setting off in wooden ships. Facilities were limited, navigation aids almost unknown, relying on Astro, limited communications in the event of a problem, and no rescue services available anyway. Even when things were going well, the trawls were generally hauled by hand, the living accommodation became wet for days on end, and the food was repetitive. Add to all this, for the generation who worked during the war, they were sailing in seas littered with mines, many of which cost the lives of crews.
To have that pot in your possession, an object that links you to these Iron Men, your ancestors, must feel a real privilege. Care for it, and pass it down to the next generation.
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Thank you Peter for your in depth comment. Their muscular strength was by needs built from young age and it wasn’t unknown that the ship was hauled through the ice in winter to reach open water. The wonder I saw later was the wisdom long nights at sea brought them. We would call it meditation these days. To them it was just being.
They still had wooden ships in my father’s days and I have myself slept in one of these – to me – cosy bunks. The women folk kept it all cosy and clean.:)
The steel ships today have better accommodation and fascilities than many homes – a new era.
I will and do care for that Pot.🌈🦋
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It’s a beautiful pot and with such a rich history, you’re lucky to be its caretaker.
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Thank you Andrea, you are right too. I often think how much care they took, even in tougher living , to have pleasing objects around. If you look towards the base you will see ‘ a lip’ which was there so you could sink the pot down
lest it flew away in the waves.
Yes, I am lucky to be the caretaker. 😊
Miriam
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Wow! Miriam, the strength and spirit of your ancestors resonate powerfully through the force of your poem which captures their hard physical work in terrible (and good) conditions with their humour and joy in life shining strong. 😀 ❤️ The sibilance in ‘It had sailed the Sea, in storms,/in hurricanes,/Also in still, smiling swells.’ mimics the very movement of the vast water and brings us on along on aboard the very fishing boat! I love how this poem came to be from the simple act of polishing this ‘sacred’ copper pot one morning – a lesson to us all that inspiration can strike at any time! It is a precious heirloom to be treasured from one generation to the next. Just one question…how did anyone pour coffee from it in stormy seas?! 😀😃
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Thank you so much Annika for your so very positive and strong answer.
Glad you spotted the humour and joy these guys shared too….and love.
I am chuffed that you noticed the sibilance in the poem. 🤗
You are right, we can all find inspiration every day in small things or bigger events. We just need to open up and listen.
Poor the coffee, hmmm…..they were just standing straight , riding the waves.
🌊. Practice make perfect the saying goes.
Miriam💕
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I understood what you meant in the opening of the post, because I have some old pots like this (and an old old scale) that I savor and display in a shelf. But your poem – your poem expressed so much more about the beauty of feeling the life of an object. About appreciating who touched and used and lived with that object in days past. Absolutely beautiful.
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Thank you Pam for your deep and heartfelt response.
There are stories pouring forth as we hold special objects in our hands.
I am glad you can feel the same, it took me a long time to polish that pot
before it had told me all. 🙂
It could have been a very long poem…..😊
miriam
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I think we should realize the power of objects and hold them carefully and gently more often.xo
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I love all things old (in fact, I have this entire post – in – progress on it!). Your lovely poem echoed not only my own feelings but nostalgia lined with warmth! Reminds me of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” by John Keats which is dear to my heart.
Thank you for sharing piece of your heritage with us.
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Wow, so you are also writing about heirlooms and their memories. Amazing, I really will look forward to reading it.
Thank you for your very kind words about my poem and to be reminiscent for you to Keats could make my head grow big if I were that way inclined. 🦋😊
miriam
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You are very welcome 😊
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Honoring and lovely post, Miriam. : )
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Thank you so much!
It is also so lovely to see you visiting me here. Welcome.
Miriam
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I love how objects like this have such a history. If we listen, they can tell the most amazing stories. I’m glad your coffee pot spoke to you!
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Thanks Sheila, you are right, we need to listen more as there is so much richness to be heard. I am glad you listened to my tale.
miriam
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I don’t think you’re odd at all for cherishing your grandfather’s coffee pot, the history it embodies and stories it tells. I love old things and believe they carry the memories of those who used them. Lovely post, Miriam. ❤
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No, not odd…that is true. Sensitive to the vibes and auras that surround us and things that has been handled through the eras. I do believe they carry memories as it often has proved to be so.
Just like some houses you walk into, you can feel so warm and welcome or be chilled to the bone.
Miriam
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Inanimate objects become animate when we attach them to memories of loved ones 🙂
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You are probably right Kathy 😉 , or could it be that the memories are attached and come alive in ones hands.? One thing is sure though, I loved and love them.
miriam
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So beautiful Miriam and you were right, it wasn’t an ordinary pot at all but rather a vessel containing history and ancestry. How wonderful that you’ve captured all that in your poem. I truly loved this. 💜☕️
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Your comment is so kind and spirited Miriam. And you are spot on,
To me it contained all this and more.
Your comment on the poem’s ability to convey this makes me very happy. 😊
🤗 miriam
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Glad it made you happy. It should, it really was beautifully written. xo
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Your story and poem are so touching. The pot is beautiful in itself but to know it travelled the seas and served the crew of men makes it precious.
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Thank you Janice, your comment makes me happy I took courage
to post this.
All of you here also make me feel I might have made my father proud with
this poem. 💕
miriam
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