At Sea
Narrated by Bill Wolak
New Jersey
AT SEA
(for Pablo Neruda)
The sea through the trees
distant
shining
The dark foreground
a stone wall
with lichen
An old salt
sits staring out
at the sea
A wind sways the palms
infrequently
Another day prepares
for heat and silence
A small plane
buzzing like a fly
disturbs the sky
The air eats it
Far out on the slumbering sea
a trawler creeps along
The wind from the south
blows the bait in the fish’s mouth
The yawning sea
swallows the trawler
The lichen lives on
in its volcanic stone
taciturn
eternal
awaiting its turn
in the turn of the sun
Never will I return here
never again
breathe this wind
on this far run
in the reaches of morning
where the sea whispers
patience and salt
The sun scorches the sky
and drops like a burnt-out match
into night
And I am an animal still
Perhaps once a bird
a halcyon
who makes its nest at sea
on my little flight across
the little chart
of my existence
Life goes on
full of silence and clamor
in the grey cities
in the far bourgs
in the white cities by the sea
where I go on
writing my life
in neither blood nor wine
I still wait and epiphany
by the petri-dish of the sea
where all life began by swimming
But it’s time now
to give an accounting of everything
an explanation of everything
such as
why there is darkness at night
Everywhere the sea is rising
Am I to be drowned with the rest of them
All the animals of earth
washed away in ocean
motherer and moitherer
in this tremendous moment
of calamitous sea-change
as our little world disappears
in a tremor of ocean and fear
to the murmur
of the middle of America
as imbeciles in neckties
drop from the trees?
No matter then
If I end up
In a house of insurgents
or shoeless on Boston Common
or cast-up clueless
in my great Uncle Desir’s
beach hut
in St. Thomas
Pardon my conduct then
if I can’t give you
any final word –
a final unified theory of existence
all thought subsumed
in one great thought
(utopian vision?)
Humans with all their voices
As myriad as
the syllables of the sea
have never been able to fathom
man’s fate
nor tell us why we are here
Still will we be
free as the sea
to be nothing but
our own shadow selves
beach bums all after all
in future time when
nations no longer exist
and the earth is swept
by ethnic hordes
in search of food and shelter?
Neither patient nor placid
in the face of all this
in the sea of every day
with its two tides
I run before the wind
Immune to hidden reefs or harbors
Someone throws me crystal fruits
in the shape of life-preservers
Others wave from distant strands
Goodbye! Goodbye!
Beached at last
bleached out
I would to the woods again
with its ancient trees
that sing like sitars
in the wind
Wordless ragas!
Shipwrecked ashore
at the mercy of avaricious gulls –
And yet and yet
we are still not born for despair
Spring comes anyway
And a gay excursion train appears
The ancient conductor
with stove-pipe hat
and gold pocketwatch
greets us like long-lost passengers
gracing us with
wreaths around our necks
as arms of lovers
insanely embrace us
Is there anything more to be said
before they carry us off
as dead
while we’re still dreaming
still in search of the bread of the word
cast upon the waters
the dough that rises
in the yeast of speech
in the written word
in poetry
Tracks upon the sand!
left by corralled hands of animals
cornered by mistakes and hapitudes
and trains taken
to mistaken destinations
or trips taken or not taken
with angels of love
to lower latitudes
Between two waves
the ocean is still –
a silence of ages
lasting but a moment
between two waves
of emotion
as lovers
turn to each other
or away
Love ebbs and flows
comes and goes
between two emotions
but surges forth again
with each new wave
but surges forth again
with each new wave
as some sea-creature from the deep
breaks the surface with a leap!
The sea roars but says no more
O the yarns it could spin
if it would
between its rages
under the eye of the sun
under the ear of the sky –
Plunderers and pieces of eight!
Invisible cities!
Crystal skulls!
Petrified hulls!
Sailors’ masturbations!