Today is the 16th anniversay of my father, Alfred Lawrence Sahms's death. He died April 27th, 1997. Tonight in Princeton I will read the following poem, honoring his death. He worked his entire life in the Textile Mills of Philadelphia, as did his brothers William and Charles (a.k.a. Chonce). His other brother- Ralph fought in WW II. The oldest was Kora or Cora ? she married and moved to Virginia (dates unknown) to me.
My name is Diane Sahms-Guarnieri, the youngest of his three daughters. My older sisters' name are Eleanore Sahms-Hummel and Betty Sahms-Basuira. Here is the poem:
Machines, Machines, Monstrous Machines
He punched the clock at eleven, again at seven
ticking hours in between were spent walking isles of
machines, machines, monstrous machines
spitting fiber into textile air, damaging lungs
already filled from a daily pack of Pall Mall.
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
days to weeks, weeks to months
months to years and years and years…
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
tending them, humming inside their thunderous voices.
It was audible, not thunderous:
an oxygen machine breathed with him
transparent wire tubing ran the floorboards
connecting tank to nostrils
a talking body on a long permanent leash
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
From living room bed to front door
walking, a burden for such a man
walking floors of the Textile mill, faded
walking sandy beaches of Jersey, faded
walking sidewalks of Manayunk faded
faded, faded … along with sounds of
machines, machines, monstrous machines
They brought him to this sterile room.
Respirator reaching its ugly arm
down deeply inside his chest.
Abused, poisoned, worn out
his machine beyond repair.
Nothing could save him, save him, save him
his life, laboring with, with, with
machines, machines, monstrous machines.
All up in smoke
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
Thunderous no more
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
My name is Diane Sahms-Guarnieri, the youngest of his three daughters. My older sisters' name are Eleanore Sahms-Hummel and Betty Sahms-Basuira. Here is the poem:
Machines, Machines, Monstrous Machines
He punched the clock at eleven, again at seven
ticking hours in between were spent walking isles of
machines, machines, monstrous machines
spitting fiber into textile air, damaging lungs
already filled from a daily pack of Pall Mall.
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
days to weeks, weeks to months
months to years and years and years…
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
tending them, humming inside their thunderous voices.
It was audible, not thunderous:
an oxygen machine breathed with him
transparent wire tubing ran the floorboards
connecting tank to nostrils
a talking body on a long permanent leash
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
From living room bed to front door
walking, a burden for such a man
walking floors of the Textile mill, faded
walking sandy beaches of Jersey, faded
walking sidewalks of Manayunk faded
faded, faded … along with sounds of
machines, machines, monstrous machines
They brought him to this sterile room.
Respirator reaching its ugly arm
down deeply inside his chest.
Abused, poisoned, worn out
his machine beyond repair.
Nothing could save him, save him, save him
his life, laboring with, with, with
machines, machines, monstrous machines.
All up in smoke
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
Thunderous no more
Machines, machines, monstrous machines
Kathy Pinna 
