I speak in the language of dead fish.
:half globe, thick enough to tap against
but not too thick to muffle
voices. Fish view the world upturned
on their way to the promise land:
Cross legged, cross minded;
buddha-sagged
in the middle but the lotus flower
softens the edges. I shake
when I think about Tuesdays, the other days
when I swallow the thoughts of a nation.
Shake when I think about how many trips it takes to gather a collection
of little flippytailed creatures
circling
—clown fish just wanted to go home.
Umbrella folds upward —raped by wind as it
tornados. Rain slicks
the air, a sideways gust.
Puddles appear before my thin shoes
splash on anklebones
as I attempt to crab-step the deep ends;
think
fish have no concept of water.
Author notes
posted this now because I never seem to remember to enter contests until they are closed. I shall be coming back to it over the next couple of days.
A contest entry
- Still Water by NurseChilly.
1750 points, ended March 18, 2008, 22 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
working on it, still.
Comments
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This is great!!!!! My favorite fish is the flounder... because they are always looking up.
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Congratulations, I knew this was a winner when I read it.
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I am honoured you remembered...
and of course, i love your fish/people poems... and yes you're right, sometimes, they/we/us have no concept of water and the nourishment and nurturing it can bring....
loved this piece
G.x
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depths and surfaces...
somewhere in the cherlish deviating adventures of sub-surface life, forms take on other shapes of boxlessness. i like the way you swim through the wave trim and the bantering aquatic dimensions of symbolism and symbolisticlessness with seemingly no effort at all. this almost makes Tori Amos a mother of deep oceanic life formlessness... ~ EZB
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I keep reading it
but not making a connection ... just to share how varying opinions about poems can be. Sure the last line is clever but I dislike clever in poetry humongously.
I don't mind being confused but for instance, the opening line just doesn't resonate with me. Dead fish have a language that speaks? All I think of is yes, dead fish have a language - a stinky body language of floating belly up.
Then I get to the part with the legs and I'm thinking ... fish don't have legs? But I guess you are talking about you there?
So, no, this one doesn't work for me but you shouldn't care about that at all. It struck chords with others and christ, we can't always love everything our buddies write, that would just be lying to each other and that does no good.
The image I do like is:
Fish view the world upturned
on their way to the promise land:
which may indeed be the Idea of the poem to begin with. Death. I don't know. I can't grab onto anything else but that.
Anyway, Hi it's Friday. Good luck in the contest Miss Acceptance.
Lisa
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All poetry is subjective. We all can't adore every poem a person writes (or even the bulk of what they write).
lol Yeah, this poem is about Death and its many faces.
lol haven't had an acceptance in weeks, now. Or rejection, either. I'm in limbo.
Happy Friday.
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I have had 2 rejections this week and 1 acceptance last week (from a place I've already been published in which sort of is yay! but boo
cause I really want a new place). Good thing about it is they were all very old poems I sent out to that place and they took em.
But I'm delighted to read that the people at Gazebo have been consistently rejected from Rattle. Snide of me isn't it.
Well one guy has been in TWICE but mostly it's reporting rejections over there too.
I am lately obsessed with Death in poems. or the Exploration of it anyway -
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Ah. Brent Fisk. Mr. I-Am-The-Modern-Poet. I've been published with him.
I've noticed the rest are reporting repeated rejects from Rattle. I'm working on my second reject from 'em. Had a nice little back and forth with Tim (not about poetry but my name).
Double publishing doesn't have the same "yah" feeling as the first does. TWC published me twice in a row. It's nice to know that the first wasn't just filler work, though.
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Oh and I just looked the judge is some guy named Fred Marchant who is a pure academic and teaches English and Creative Writing at a university in Boston
sigh.
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Ah you know Mr. Fisk. HA!
I opened my email just moments ago to find out that Wintersea is a finalist in the Cape Cod Cultural Organizations contest ($1,000 prize for National $250 for Local Winner). I'm sure I won't win as the 33 finalists are being sent off to a finalist judge now but it was sort of nice to get the news I made a cut of sorts and have been invited to read during April. Would sure be nice though ...
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Congrats. Making the cut at least shows your poem is serious in the eyes of the judges. Invited to read is pretty big. I'm too much a recluse to do readings and stuff . . . which is why I will always remain "the girl who sometimes gets published."
Sorry about Mr. Acedemia Judge Guy.
yep. I've paid attention to Mr. Fisk. He gets much adoration at that other place.
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raped by wind...you come up with the most amazing metaphors. Love it.
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one of your best.
Loved, loved this.
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Thank you.
Really?
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Sigh~
This is brilliant...
I so envy your talent ...
I love this from the title to the end...
SO flawless
Lynda
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I read recently that you write fish a lot, but this is the first one that I've read.
This fish you write, is no dead like you say in the first stanza.
The flipflopping angst of it is quite lively, I felt it from beginning to end. I love the line about the clown fish too. I feel like that some days.
Smile, grin, giggle, pat a shoulder...
(for fuck's sake when do I get to rest..)
haha, I have no idea if this comment is even worth a damn, but it's fun when a poem makes my mind wander like this.
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Sometimes I am the clown fish. Sigh.
I'm actually working on a poetry manuscript... Speaking to Fish. Which is where all the fishy/water poems have come from.
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