“Sassy Swashbuckler" wrote:
A post or two wouldn’t really be enough, don’t you think? You might miss some more poetry on the sea – like this one, for example.
You’ll note it has particular relevance to s.c.i. in one or two places.
The Atlantic Ocean |
An Origin Like Water: Collected Poems, 1967-1987
|
This stone, this Spanish stone, flings light
Like acid in my eyes. Walls splice the day.
Our freighter chokes, then belches anthracite,
Fresh water up by noon. We are away.
A shrivelled Europe faces
Starboard. Our guzzling boat
Bloats on fish, swallows, chases
The anchor down its throat.
Waves are conjurors, splashes sleeves,
Up which aces of past and future hide.
One man finds love, another what he grieves
By watching. To me they are another side
Of life, not one to do
With retrospect or manners
But with the ballyhoo
Of war, the hoist of banners.
Out of this ocean now, its menacing storms,
Out of its cryptic structures, its tribal
Tides, out of its secret order, from the cabal
Of trade wind and water, look, a Soviet forms!
A squad of drops batters
The sky for a second, wears
Out its force, then turns and tears
Each imperial crest to tatters.
The waves are agitating now, the sea
Itself becomes the theatre of the battle.
Lesser waves congregate, they settle
On a policy for all. All agree
Not to abandon their will
To fight, their fierce airs
Their stormy posture until
Victory is theirs.
So what has started well can flourish still,
As for example, underneath the tide
The marvel of structured self-protecting coral -
Now a milestone, sure to be a guide
To the she-whale, the sperm-whale nosing
Clear of the shark, the porpoises
Braceleting the ships’ bows.
The octopus intricately dozing.
No wonder it beats like an alternate heart in me,
No wonder its drops fill and fall from my eyes
In familiar drops. It’s in the family.
At last I see, at last I recognize
In its wild station,
Its ice and riot, its other
Prowess, of my revolution
The elder brother.