Monday, March 11, 2013

The Submarine Edvard Grosk

The submarine Edvard Grosk is a tiny pocket of air and humanity,
folded around itself--
an oblong envelope of warm life,
a kind of metal pita making extreme depth and enormous pressure survivable.

Aboard this vessel is Blonde Katy, the sailor's friend.

There is no official roster on which her name is recorded,
and yet, she is there,
gloriously naked beneath a rough green blanket,
on a bunk mid-way between the sun and the Earth's fiery core.

There are things she will do--
things not just anyone can do, 
things that make the windowless months less nightmarish.
There are islands,
stars,
beautiful prayers offered from blameless lips,
but do any of them exceed Blonde Katy's soft skin in life-saving magnificence?

Like the submarine Edvard Grosk, she was born in Gothenburg,
or was it Oslo?
Whatever the case, she was a rider beneath her mother's ribs,
a miniature ship in dry dock,
until she came down the greased skids as a water baby,
meeting her natural element and taking to it thereafter;
Blonde Katy, swimmer in the clear pure sweetness of a maritime calling.

Is there any priest, any beautiful figurehead,
who could claim hearts the way that Blonde Katy can?
Why, the captain himself relies upon her.
Her long fingernail trailing along his absurd hairy stomach is more telling,
more revelatory, than any computerized graphic or sophisticated sonar available.

If God were to pluck a burning star from the Pleiades or the Southern Cross,
and hold it in the darkness of His palm,
it would uncannily resemble
Blonde Katy aboard the submarine Edvard Grosk,
164 fathoms beneath the surface of the sea.

Finding yourself there,
one Divine whim away from being flung into oblivion,
would you kiss her?
Would you sleep with her,
though you be male, female, or companionway rivet?
Would you quibble over trifles, or bleat about nonsense like fidelity
or the future?
You would not.

Blonde Katy would be your reaping angel,
and the submarine Edvard Grosk your glorious flaming chariot
bound for Home,
Heaven,
or some other as yet uncharted destination that you would know by feel
as if you were a nautilus ecstatically discovering its ideal shell. 
________




15 comments:

HermanTurnip said...

One perfect spot of serenity in a tiny world surrounded by the perfect terror. If it were me, I'd weep with joy in Blonde Katy's arms.

Wonderful story!

Lolamouse said...

Being stuck on a submarine is my idea of a nightmare! I hate being underwater and I hate enclosed spaces! I don't think even Blonde Katy could make me feel better under those circumstances!

nene said...

I think Blonde Katy is from Oslo's icy waters where she resided until I held her in my arms and her heart thaw'd. She lies there 'still'.

TexWisGirl said...

wow! this one was full of fabulous visions and wordsmithing! from the first line 'a tiny pocket of air and humanity'

Grandmother said...

How do you come up with these visions? They lead up to all sorts of previously unmentionable places, and aren't we glad?!

G-Man said...

No Fidelity bleatings from me!
Yes I'd kiss her.
...Maybe some heavy petting.
Loved your Nordic musing!!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

What a fantastic write. The last stanza is astounding! Love the nautilous discovering its shell.

Daryl said...

i love this one, read several times because each time i find something new

Sioux said...

Shay,

You travel to the wildest places and the weirdest eras in your poetry.

This was quite intriguing...

Sara said...

I liked:
"There are things she will do--
things not just anyone can do,...

There's something so devilish about those challenging words.

I'm not a big fan of the idea of submarines, but Blonde Katy would definitely spice up the ride:~)

Mama Zen said...

"she was a rider beneath her mother's ribs,
a miniature ship in dry dock,
until she came down the greased skids as a water baby,
meeting her natural element and taking to it thereafter"

God, that is gorgeous!

lapis said...

"making extreme depth and enormous pressure survivable"

"There is no official roster on which her name is recorded,
and yet, she is there"

"mid-way between the sun and the Earth's fiery core"

"If God were to were to pluck a burning star from the Pleiades ... and hold it in the darkness of His palm"

the entirety of the last two stanzas

Excellent, brilliant, impressive, inspiring work. I hope you're adding it to The List.

lapis said...

Perhaps the submarine is even a metaphor for the depth and pressure of surviving/enduring the claustrophobia of life. She is his savior, distraction, guide, and friend (with "benefits," it sounds like).

lapis said...

Hey girlie, I forgot to point out that "were to were to" typo in your poem. I know you hate that.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I love this story! Those old movies of WWII submarines always thrilled and terrified me: I hate the claustrophobia of such tight containment so far from breathable elements! I also thought the title was excellent - named for the submarine rather than the main character.