安全装置

解説

付記

ある日、私はエレベーターの井戸底に 粉々になった“人間の残骸”を見た。 手足はそこら中に散らばり、見るも無惨。 私は言った―― 「なんと驚くべき姿だ。首のことが心配だ！」 すると、その残骸は悲しげに、しかしはっきりと答えた。 「いや、首なら二週間前に折れてるんでね。」 そしてさらに、彼は自らの両腕や両脚を指して解説した。 片足は役立たず、もう一方は所在不明。 要するに、全身がバラバラで使い物にならんと。 ――もちろんこれは寓話だ。比喩であり、 実際に誰かが落ちたわけじゃない。 この“井戸”とは政治を指す。 適性があれば人を素晴らしく持ち上げるが、 その支えが切れれば、容赦なく地に叩き落とす。 かつてウィリアム・ジェニングス・ブライアンは その“才能”を持っていて、高く舞い上がった。 だが、ロープは切れ、地面に叩きつけられた。 生きてはいる――だが誰も、もはや彼を顧みない。 この惨めな詩の教訓はこれだ： 安全装置には油を差しておけ。 ―― ポーファー・プーグ

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Original

A mechanical device acting automatically to prevent the fall of an elevator, or cage, in case of an accident to the hoisting apparatus.

Additional notes

Once I seen a human ruin In an elevator-well, And his members was bestrewin' All the place where he had fell. And I says, apostrophisin' That uncommon woful wreck: Your position's so surprisin' That I tremble for your neck! Then that ruin, smilin' sadly And impressive, up and spoke: Well, I wouldn't tremble badly, For it's been a fortnight broke. Then, for further comprehension Of his attitude, he begs I will focus my attention On his various arms and legs— How they all are contumacious; Where they each, respective, lie; How one trotter proves ungracious, T'other one an alibi. These particulars is mentioned For to show his dismal state, Which I wasn't first intentioned To specifical relate. None is worser to be dreaded That I ever have heard tell Than the gent's who there was spreaded In that elevator-well. Now this tale is allegoric— It is figurative all, For the well is metaphoric And the feller didn't fall. I opine it isn't moral For a writer-man to cheat, And despise to wear a laurel As was gotten by deceit. For 'tis Politics intended By the elevator, mind, It will boost a person splendid If his talent is the kind. Col. Bryan had the talent (For the busted man is him) And it shot him up right gallant Till his head begun to swim. Then the rope it broke above him And he painful come to earth Where there's nobody to love him For his detrimented worth. Though he's livin' none would know him, Or at leastwise not as such. Moral of this woful poem: Frequent oil your safety-clutch. Porfer Poog