Fishing poles lean against the wall like sailors
bewitched by sirens
or made lazy by plum wine and local taxis.
Oars, rejected by the frozen lake,
brood and search the grain of their wood
for bitter poems of chard and cranberry.
Outside, the willow is a mother whose children have gone.
In the ice, willow leaves wear the panic of stopped hearts.
In their minds
a path stretches into and between orange groves.
In their dreams
there is dancing, though with whom and to what music, they cannot say.
In their souls
the grief of the fallen, the motherless, the snow-blind.
Lake, why do you scorn sailors.
poets,
and fools in their clumsy boots on your shore?
Gone is the memory of holding the boat against your body
and the murmur of your voice
like a great heart about to fail
from the thorn
and the hook
and the plum wine sky of evening.
______________
Chills! And not from the icy cold water! You took the word list and created something memorable. Very Lightfoot.
ReplyDeleteWell, of course as usual in your work, every line is strong and full of nuance, but what knocked me back was how your abstract images (second stanza, etc) meet the personal, and travel in so many directions, yet always inward, and always with such sharp, dark coloring and mood. Every stanza mirrors rejection or loss, yet each one remains rich and satisfying to read anyway, with the third especially giving form,solemnity and meaning to the pain, and hinting at dreams and possibilities obscured but perhaps not forever lost. A deep and complex poem Shay, where Nature is your canvas, and the heart your sounding board. For me the last three lines are the deepest nights of winter speaking.
ReplyDeleteThe poignancy of your poem hit me full force at the end. So much rich imagery here.
ReplyDeleteThe lake is protecting her contents—all the little critters and tender plants underneath, perhaps her heart and memories.
ReplyDeleteI always want to know how long you work on these particularly perfect ones that contain so many uniquely compelling images—these that leave me feeling so fulfilled and at peace.
The heart failure has me imagining a hospital scene, surrounding a dying woman who is pushing everyone away because she can’t bear the emotional pain of expressing love.
What a poem--so full of gems, as usual. The last lines were especially moving.
ReplyDeleteGone is the memory of holding the boat against your body
and the murmur of your voice
like a great heart about to fail
from the thorn
and the hook
and the plum wine sky of evening.
Wowza.
You have written about loss in such a wonderful way Shay! Every line is beautiful and strikes the reader perfectly, but that last stanza hits the heart at the core. As usual you have written a poem that cannot be forgotten nor would we want to. Simply gorgeous! I love that Lightfoot song so much too. It stirs so many memories. His voice is pure bliss!
ReplyDelete" Fishing poles lean against the wall like sailors
ReplyDeletebewitched by sirens
or made lazy by plum wine and local taxis."
love that image, that's how all of my fishing gear is feeling right now. i like to ice fish, so a frozen lake is a beautiful thing to me. i missed the whole season this year, so i will have to wait till spring... just like this poem is. very well written shay.