Beyond The Book Poem by Frank Avon

It's a book qua book,

never having been read,
I daresay,
never meant to be.

But I'm an addict,
a junkie,
calling myself a Collector
to pardon my transgressions,

unable to resist
the feel of its pages to my fingers,
the sharpness of its edges,
the precision of its binding,
the texture of its papers,
its dust jacket and endpapers,
the sweep of the eye across
its full-page and double-page photographs,
its heft,
the majestic musculature,
hard and carved,
unseen but to be inferred
from its weight,
its dimensions,
its volume,

its royal title
('genuine value')
in modest typography
all lower case
centered in pure white
enthroned on a black bar
against a broad expanse of ground
('The cover image
of two John Deere boot tracks
symbolizes
the company's 164-year tie
with the land') ,

the tip of its royal sceptre,
a small frontispiece,
a black-and-white photograph
of a bronze statue
of the master
and his autograph
in crude lettering
printed in gray,
'John Deere, '

its crown jewels,
as it were,
abstract nouns,
declarations of the values
of the Corporation:

Quality
Innovation
Integrity
Commitment

silhouetted in sepia
on the end pages,
in who-knows how many languages'
emphasized in statuesque typography
as headings to chapters,
gracing its robes of plush spendour,
a deep, dark green,
the power of its realm,

splashed on its expansive photographs,
dramatic black and white,
luxurious, opulent colors,
fluffy clouds and amber waves of grain
the muted greens of a misty morning
'a lone farmer walking behind
a mule-drawn, single-row John Deere planter'
its glassy, landscaped headquarters
on the outskirts of Moline
a French Renaissance chateau as the backdrop
for a monstrous modern tractor
a walking mower on the grounds of Lincoln Memorial
Spanish moss draped from live oak trees
a chisel plow and a four-wheel drive tract
running with lights at night
covering thirty to forty acres an hour
on a golf course mowed by a John Deere riding mower
'a row [apparently infinite]
of nearly identical 40,000-pound excavators'
an 8000-series tractor photographed from the air
plowing figure-eights, leaving gigantic tracks
'turn[ing] circles around competitive models'
a field of black-eyed susans
stretching all the way to the horizon:

and, oh yes, adages,
a multiplicity of adages,
each given its own page,
gilded,
centered,
demanding acquiescence,

Quality transcends beauty
Craftmanship is the humble pursuit of perfection
Dependability means delivering what you promise
Pride gives work meaning
Imagination takes wing in cultivated minds
Think beyond the box
Creativity brings life to a blank sheet of paper
OK is never good enough
We are judged by the seeds we sow
Walk the talk
Commitment never quits
Nothing runs like a deer.

The regal lance
running through it heart,
a timeline
reaching decade by decade
from a blacksmith's invention of the steel plow
in 1837
to a 'prototype driverless 8200 tractor'
in 20? ? ,
featuring, of course,
the original moldboard,
a steel double-shovel cultivator,
a Scotch harrow,
a sulky rake,
the disc harrow,
a double-cylinder hay loader,
a grain binder,
the first Model-D John Deere tractor,
the four-row cultivator,
the combine (of my generation:
never mind the little John Deere H
I learned on) ,
the corn picker (how I wish we'd had one) ,
and so on;

and featuring in 2000,
the millenial year,
the publication date,
a small portrait
underneath he bottom line,
the eighth company president,
from the outset with John
and his son Charles,
then a son-in-law,
a great-grandson,
the first five all
immediate family,

and, naturally, quotations
of the bottom line:
10 plows in 1839,100 in 1842,
$300,000 in 1842, $3 million in 1907,
$340 million in 1955, $4.6 billion in 1982,
fewer employees and facilities in 1987
but earnings of $7.2 billion,
then $13.8 billion in 2000,
with profits of over $1 billion,

'the world's premier manufacturer
of agricultural equipment'
all from a moldboard plow
a blacksmith made
from the blade of a broken saw.

The royal train
with its crescents and crests
royal ribbons
(or maybe royal petticoats) ,
trails along
in very, very small print,
requiring a microscope for most eyes,
going on for thirty-three pages,
the names of '63,676 worldwide employees
and living retirees
(as of January 1,2000) ...
listed in order of service start date'
beginning in 1922
[to be read, I imagine,
like names on the Vietnam Memorial].
'Business relationships
must always be win-win.'

The final page,
a royal coda,
is a full-page, full-color
photo of a deer
cast in bronze.

It's a book qua book,

designed for someone's coffee table,
or the shelves of an inveterate Collector.

I hold mine with pride.

Never mind its obsequious obeisance
to 'Corporate Values'
(for that should be its title,
not royal but oligarchic) ,

it is its design, not the text,
it is an artifact,
it is a work of art.

$10 today
at Midway Antique Mall.

'Change is constant
but values are enduring.'