Today's poem is based on a phone call from my son, describing how he had taken his son fishing for the first time.
I could say that I made up some of the details, but that wouldn't be true, exactly ... the feel of the rod, the quivering fish, the sights and sounds that go along with fishing ... based on memories of outings I had with my own sons.
The poem, incidentally, is part of a manuscript in search of a publisher.
Naming the Fish
First, there was the long
practice, getting the feel of the rod,
the flick that would send the lure
spinning out across the expanse
of driveway toward the evening sun,
the steady clicking of retrieval,
another flick, and another.
And now the blue water dazzles,
an early sun glinting, wind-stirred
ripples moving in such a way that you
feel you are moving, instead, drifting
toward some vague destination.
The sheath is removed from the barbs
of the lure now, a soft hum of line
extending, the plop, the long wait.
Then the line goes suddenly taut,
tingling, the feeling of life
racing its length, bending the rod
until, finally, the water parts
and you’re holding a slippery,
wiggling, gasping fish, looking
into its large, imploring eyes,
giving it a name, a person’s name,
then letting it slip gently back
into the water and swim away.
© 2006
***
Today's word:
spinningAfterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
You are so right, Magran ... I've never been deep sea fishing, but I can imagine how much bigger ... and even more expressive ... those eyes can be. I understand your reaction. And I like your take on the "naming," as in "naming your pocket" in billiards. That brought back some old, old memories for me.
I'm glad you liked the photo of the dogwood, Helen (it graces the front lawn of Brimm Manor) ... I know what you mean about how beautiful they can be in the wild ... I remember them ... I also remember how beautiful the peach orchards were in the springtime. My fishing experience usually entailed accounts of the one(s) that got away ... and most of the rest were of the catch-and-release variety, too ... so I had little first-hand experience with preparing the catch for the grill ... but I remember being all eyes, as a youngster, watching the adults at the task.
4 comments:
Two thoughts: #1. I remember the first time we went "deep sea fishing". It's true those LARGE fish do have knowledge in their eyes. They KNOW what you are doing to them. I couldn't take it! #2. The title reminded me of "naming your pocket" in billiards and I had to giggle at the thought of naming your fish (the species) as you made the cast. Wonder how many times that would work? LOL
Another one to add to all my favorites. First of all...the dogwood in the picture hits my heart. I love to see them and can't here in Miami. It's so beautiful to drive through the woods...like Giant City in Southern Illinois...in the spring. I try to get back there when they are in bloom. It's a treat, if and when, the redbuds are in bloom at the same time. Sometimes it happens.
This poem paints a beautiful picture. My dad always wished he knew how to fish, but never had anyone to teach him. I hung around those who did at the little lake I grew up by and even liked to skin catfish. I thought that's what the expression, "more than one way to skin a cat" meant--even though I only knew one way, and wondered how else you could skin it. At a carnival I even, by choice, won a kit to do it...but the plyers worked better. This poem is another excellent one that takes me gently, right along with it.
Helen
I liked your poem. As a fisherman and charter guide, I believe there is more to fishing then just catching fish - there's the replendent sun gleaming across the water, the relaxed peacefulness mixed with excitement as one explores virgin waters for the first time and the accomplishment of overcoming some of natures most beautiful creatures with a great sense of pride in releasing such a magificent animal back into it's environment. Thank you for sharing. Fair winds and gentle seas.
As I was perusing your side bar, I discovered you've just had an anniversary of writing here. Congratulations!
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