Hook, Line, and Sinker
Feb 7th, 2009 by ShaunO
Yeah c’mon!
belly-flop in,
take a big mouthful,
of those ghosts,
which have been.
Squiggle the surface,
a tempting?
a pretty fishing ‘fly’?
see its reflection,
of past,
and have a good cry.
Triple hooks,
strong tropical fishing rig,
a doubling of chance?
for real insight,
or un-truth,
or another merry dance?
Big weights,
rough seas,
commune with the mermaids,
and other fantasies…
But don’t waste time…
trawling that bottom,
down there in those depths,
its not likely, big hooks,
will catch the sublime…
Trolling the fast line,
speeding boats,
big lures,
hunting fat fishes…
all on the run?
High speed hook-ups,
and dead fish,
all over the deck,
what guarantee of fun?
On a serene back-water…
hear the happy fish,
splish, splosh, splish…
splash…
Dive in too,
content with sharing,
swim about in,
the estuary,
with all of our kind…
all paddling together,
Loving, giving,
in the big pond,
the catchers and the caught,
we are all…
Basically the same.
this is this life,
not a big boat, or a big fish,
nor a big game.
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The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægæan, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
………………………………………………………….
Unfortunately I cannot take credit for this but I hope it adds some balance a poem by Matthew Arnold.
- Tonia