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Lines
August 15, 2006
Straight talking,
that was what
was needed, so
you said. And
you smiled a thin
and final line,
and you turned,
as they say,
on your heel,
on a sixpence,
and you strode,
straight-limbed, along
the coastal path,
direct, unswerving,
to the jetty, walked
its slick rectangle
to where the ferry
rode at anchor.
Just in time:
the straining lines
released, the anchor
hauled, the ferry
drove a silver
track, straight as
a rail, towards
a flat horizon. And,
as I watched
unmoving, you
slipped at last
around the slow
unyielding curve
of the world.
by Dick Jones of Patteran Pages
Categories: Short Shorts
Dick Jones
qarrtsiluni 
(o)
Every time I read this poem, I find it beautiful, and absolutely devastating. Your sure control over the tone, and the choice of language, makes the inexorability even stronger. Thank you, Dick.
Wow! I really like this. It has a sense of irreversible motion. And sadness.
I liked this so well that I unconsciously plagiarized the title for one of my own poems last week! (I told Dick; he was very understanding about it.) Despite its apparent simplicity, as Beth says, it does bear repeated re-readings.
Yes, this is wonderful. I like how the repetition of straight lines climaxes in a curve visually and emotionally.
God, you’re good, Dick. This has to be one of the shiniest among so many stars.
The reed that won’t bend will break.
I join the applause, Dick. I like the strong insistence on straightness (so many permutations of it, but none feels forced) until the world takes over and brings in the bend.
But I am afraid I must ask for the “facts”: are ferries really said to “ride at”, and “to haul anchor”? The twice mentioned and metaphorically weighted anchor troubles me when I think it has no real place in the narrative.
Shiver me timbers and smack me with a mackerel if I’m mistaken!
Dear Dick,
Hope you don’t mind the flying shards as I grapple for your poem on the high shelf.
I do love the anchor thing. Your poem has kept me happily occupied. Throughout the morning the anchor has come and gone; become stuck and unstuck, leaving me wondering if the ship or the smile were ever really there. But of the anchor I am certain.
Beautifully crafted.
i like how the poem draws you inexorably down the page until it too disappears with the object of desire around the unyielding curve of the world.
What Beth said. I enjoy this very much.
Thank you for the stone, zhoen. I shall polish it regularly!
And thank you, Beth, for such fulsome praise.
In fact, many thanks to all who have commented – mb, Dave (that title must be in the common domain!), Marjea-Leena, Natalie, Teju (good to see a new blog from you), MB, Mikey & Peter. I’m very gratified by the appreciative reactions to the poem, but also a little surprised. It languished for a long time in its notebook, unaltered since it was written during a poetry workshop writing exercise in which one had to produce a piece in 15 minutes (a process that eventually had me quitting the group!) As someone who sometimes has poems gestating for years, maybe I should trust the ‘shoot-from-the-hip’ process more!
Bill, I’ve emailed you concerning your reservations about anchors ridden & hauled. And I’ve made some adjustments, which I’m confident should satisfy the demands of the most demanding of Patrick O’Brian fans!
i like the spareness of these lines
I considered briefly the Pythonesque option offered by Bill of shivering his timbers & then smacking him with a mackerel were he incorrect concerning the use of an anchor. But he’s actually right: no ferry would lie alongside a jetty & also ride at anchor, nor, therefore, would it haul said anchor either. Ferries are moored fore & aft by cables. In drawing attention to this, Bill bypassed the effete, unworldly poet in me & located the pedantic ubernerd beneath. I propose, therefore, the following alterations: ‘…to where the ferry
tugged its moorings. / Just in time: / the straining lines / released, the cables / stowed, the ferry /
drove a silver / track…’
Sorry, Kasturi. Effete, unworldly poet here: thank you for your comment. Keeping the piece as spare as possible, both in terms of its selection of language & in its line lengths, was a principal aim.
The revision works for me. You even replace a line image with two others.
Dr. Maturin wouldn’t have gotten it right, either.