In going through a box of papers I came a cross a pile of old old poems written in late 60’s, early 70’s. So having no shame I’m resurrecting them with minimal editing. I was using a cheaper, yellow copy for many of these – the paper hasn’t yellowed with age. Enjoy 🙂
Sea Story – July 1971
1
it’s been a rough passage
lies & all the lightening skies
I keep wondering when the southbound breeze
will kick me in the head & knock me to my knees
it tries & tries
so hard to please
dangling sweet smelling smiling hope before my eyes
but I must maintain my mainsail
avoid the sacrilege
of sacrifice
bear up proud & strong
to keep sailing toward no end in sight
the trunks have been abandoned long ago on the wharf
all are empty now
looted of their costumes
I must sail with sails my disguise
I must ride the blizzard inside & out
finally realizing that time has come
to hunt down the criminal vagabond
who attacked my fine silks with spilt wine
dirtied my sparkling mirror with
the expression of his eyes
all ravaged & hopelessly left loose
lying on the edge of time
while I so calmly remained removed & longed
to keep sailing toward no end in sight.
2
sultry slow children playing
back & forth
running from the tents
to the trees
unaware of their warm ease
as the sky pans by
a million fathoms empty of stars & moon
but full of powdered blue aside
no outside
clouded sprightly &
moving the grass
whispered at last
that windows could be opened
for this sailor to peer outside for awhile
there are no mistakes to plead correction for
only moments of flight
to long reflying for
only knots to wish retying for
only by gone crying & laughing
to languish in with pianos playing
over & under every longing & wish
we feel to return to dry land
violin strings sea storm
harp winds wailing
forever & ever warm wind sailing
towards the new ending
towards the maybe loving making in some Singapore shanty
that cannot open its doors
till we arrive with no more longing
to keep sailing toward no end in sight
flashing flashing fitfully warning
with sudden outbursts of lighthouse lunacy
trying so hard to cut the night in two
hoping for some sounding to come rebounding
to warn of hidden dangers murky depth
& silent glowing slithering by happiness
luring the wary into nets of stars
flying them off at a thousand miles per minute
toward the fatal swiftness of the sun
3
we played at being hopelessly lost one dusty morning
snow like dust on the decks
spinning down from eternity
we played at being hopelessly lost
our prow pushing forward into thick air
seemed to be leading nowhere
foreward foreward
the icy wind pushed us
the sails frozen such that we couldn’t take them down
foreward foreward
steering deeper deeper into
the equator’s sunshine blizzard
foreward foreward
following the smiling nude sea
into some deathless canyon ribboned on all sides
with impenetrable sheets of snow & rain
& laughing surprise packages as we each
opened our eyes to another fine morning
here in my little room
so far from the sea
so free from the sea
so removed in anguish from the diadems
of speech that somehow I manage
to keep sailing toward no end in sight
One of the drawbacks in transcribing these pieces has been the loss of enjambments 😦 Even if I duplicate them here – they disappear when I cut & paste a version into another program – Word Press strips everything away except italics. With the old typewriters I would only have to turn the roller one line down & start without having to go back to the beginning edge.
I have to admit I was probably a bit made with enjambments anyway but I loved the way they look don the page, I loved how you drop a word down on the next line, or phrase, for emphasis so it was like an aside to what was just read, as opposed the the start of a whole new stanza.
In looking back at Sea Story I see it influences by Procol Harum’s Gary Brooker’s lyrics. There’s no denying ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ plays into this piece – it was a poem I studied in high school. It’s hard to miss all the alliteration ‘sweet smelling smiling hope’ plus some sonic wordplay -‘the sacrilege of sacrifice.’ I lived by the ocean but rarely wrote about the sea.
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