The Seafarer

Gold cherry

By onemorething

Tue, 20 Jun 2023
  • 2190 reads
18 comments
 

Inspired by the old Anglo-Saxon poem of the same name and Ezra Pound's take on it. 
http://www.anglo-saxons.net/hwaet/?do=get&type=text&id=Sfr
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44917/the-seafarer

 

No god has ever taken much notice of me,

and I have listened for them at the furthest depths

where only the strangest can live, believe me -

lantern fish, fanged devils, the giants, the dragons;

manufacturers of light in the darkness, 

that prowl beneath the pressure of silence. 
 

At sea, I weave familiar voices from the wind,

speak to the interminable blue, bloomed black,

and shade by shade, I forget the world of colour

to the leaden of monochrome, and the nights...

oh, the nights --- the terror of the watch

as the universe merges to just one pitch,

when I cling to every star, their glist, 

and the shape of the moon, and curse

the very clouds that steal my last means of sight. 
 

The razorbills, vicars of the ocean, scoop

at unseen shoals like silver coins in a collection plate.

A companionship of sorts, of gannet and guillemot,

of gull - maw maw maw - to the sky, though I

survive, alien, at the peninsulas of even their existence.

Shadowbeasts that have their own underwater paths 

to follow, men who have found a shore to rest on,

I say, love me, love me not, love me, you must not,

love me, you cannot, love me. This is the exile of self

flung and lost upon the waves of doubt. 

 

And how the cold grasps me then, icicles hung from my neck,

my fingers, chains of ice about my hips, a pendant from my nose, 

it grips the ship too, decked like a chandelier, frostburnt

and anchored to no thing. Still, a warm heart ticks in my chest.

Though, if I saw land now, wintered as I am, would I know 

the difference between curlew and cuckoo.

How I wish that I had wings.

Hope places its white feathers in my hair as

I cry out into the empty air my song of I, no Bible story,

this does not end with any prayer.

 
Painting is from here: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Max_Jensen_-_Maritime_Painting.jpg

 

 

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Comments

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

Wonderful poem. 

 

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

A total joy to read with such a wonderful feel for the mud and clay of language. This is our Pick of the Day -- please do share on Facebook, Twitter and so on. 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Oh, blimey, thank you, wasn't expecting that. Really happy you enjoyed it. :)

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

BRILLIANT!
Loved "shadowbeasts", and "silver coins in a collection plate", and "peninsulas of their existence"
the strangeness, cold, hugeness and awe of endless blue

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks Di, happy you liked it. x

 

Submitted by marandina on

"At sea, I weave voices from the wind.." 

A mesmerising poem :) 

 

 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks Paul x

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is breathtaking onemore - very well deserved golden cherries - also sadly topical thinking of those poor people in the submarine. I do hope they manage to find them

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks insert, and yes, let's hope so, a frighteningly deep and strange place to find themselves lost. x

 

Submitted by Kris on

You're talk'n to me in a poetic sense...

But then again; In my line of work, I'm surrounded by allot of water = I can taste the saline of Sea & see the shadows of your words on rolling swells.....

Awesome

I'm breath taken*

Thx 1enlightened

P.s.... IMO... I would sound cloud that*

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks so much Kris, and you know what, I hadn't thought about it, but will soundcloud it tonight. x

 

Submitted by celticman on

a view from the deep sea. 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Just so. x

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

For some reason this poem had me thinking of the Vikings that sailed across oceans, or pirates of old, I could imagine your poem as part of their thoughts. Very powerful and some brilliant metaphors that give so much detail.

Really enjoyed this one.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Well, it has inspiration that goes as far back, I guess, so glad it comes across. Thanks for reading it Jenny. x

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

The horror of being lost in the beautiful immensity. Unlike the anglo-saxon poem you, I guess deliberately and honestly, end with 'I', not a prayer, and I appreciate your exploring of those raw feelings.

But the anglo-saxon poem has a certainty through his lonely, harrowing times in the vast wildness of the sea. That certainty blends so well with the distress in that poem, doesn't it?

He must have gained that knowledge not from listening and looking in the depths, but from reading God's revelation, and from honest prayer. And that was strengthened during his experience.  Rhiannon.

one quote: "He established the firm foundations, the corners of the world and the high heavens. A fool is the one who does not fear his Lord  — death comes to him unprepared. Blessed is he who lives humbly — to him comes forgiveness from heaven. God sent that spirit within him, because he believed in His might …"  

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks for reading it, Rhiannon. I suppose it's possible to impose that upon a reading of the Anglo-Saxon, though it's commonly thought that the religious references at the end are a medieval addition- this is the case with other Anglo-Saxon poetry quite often. Some, including Pound, only accept the first 90 odd lines at being the actual poem. I entirely respect your views, however, though they are not mine, as you know. 

 

Submitted by Jane Hyphen on

Love this, all of it. Quality and art through and through and so much texture. One to return to.