Ever read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? The dolphins, more intelligent than humans, evacuate the earth—just leap up into the sky—right before the Vogons destroy Earth in order to build a freeway.
Did you hear about the eight dolphins, originally captive, who were found huddled together offshore after Katrina? Four allowed themselves to be captured; the other four stayed in the sea, appearing every day for a ration of fish from the humans. Now those four have disappeared—no sign of them for two days straight. Are they trying to tell us something? Did they evacuate, leap away from this troubled old globe? Or was it just the allure of freedom—did they discover they could catch their own fish without having to do matinees (four shows on Sunday)... Think about it. (The Vogons, by the way, tortured people by tying them up and reciting bad poetry to them.)
While we wait, some poems from Robert Lowell, cousin of Amy. The two of them didn't hang out much; he called Amy "big and a scandal, as if Mae West were a cousin". These are from his challenging collection, The Dolphin.
FISHNET
—Robert Lowell
Any clear thing that blinds us with surprise,
your wandering silences and bright trouvailles,
dolphin let loose to catch the flashing fish...
saying too little, then too much.
Poets die adolescents, their beat embalms them,
the archetypal voices sing offkey;
the old actor cannot read his friends,
and nevertheless he reads himself aloud,
genius hums the auditorium dead.
The line must terminate.
Yet my heart rises, I know I've gladdened a lifetime
knotting, undoing a fishnet of tarred rope;
the net will hang on the wall when the fish are eaten,
nailed like illegible bronze on the futureless future.
________________________
SYMPTOMS
—Robert Lowell
A dog seems to lap water from the pipes,
a wheeze of dogsmell and dogcompanionship—
life-enhancing water brims my bath—
(the bag of waters or the lake of the grave..?)
from the palms of my feet to my wet neck—
I have no mother to lift me in her arms.
I feel my old infection, it comes once yearly:
lowered good humor, then an ominous
rise of irritable enthusiasm...
Three dolphins bear our little toilet-stand,
the grin of the eyes rebukes the scowl of the lips,
they are crazy with the thirst. I soak,
examining and then examining
what I really have against myself.
________________________
Poets of the San Joaquin is having their annual poetry contest. Deadline is Friday, Sept. 30. The fee is only $1/poem. To download an entry form, go to www.ChaparralPoets.org/psjcontests.html. While you're looking at the website, consider joining this state-wide poetry organization, California Federation of Chaparral Poets, Inc., which has two chapters in Sacramento, puts out a monthly newsletter, and holds an annual poetry convention (which will be in Fresno for the next two years). Poets of the San Joaquin is the Modesto chapter. CFCP, Inc. also holds monthly contests (again, see the website); deadline is always the last day of the contest month. September's theme is "Fun With Numbers".
DOLPHIN
—Robert Lowell
My Dolphin, you only guide me by surprise,
a captive as Racine, the man of craft,
drawn through his maze of iron composition
by the incomparable wandering voice of Phedre.
When I was troubled in mind, you made for my body
caught in its hangman's-knot of sinking lines,
the glassy bowing and scaping of my will...
I have sat and listened to too many
words of the collaborating muse,
and plotted perhaps too freely with my life,
not avoiding injury to others,
not avoiding injury to myself—
to ask compassion...this book, half fiction,
as eelnet made by man for the eel fighting—
my eyes have seen what my hand did.
______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.