Losing the Age of Pisces.
As
poets we wake and know we’ve heard the sea
in
its loneliness reach out and into our dreams,
but
its language cries out in the ozone words
of
some unknown tongue – we try to find our way
back
down through the fathoms of speech to hear
what the
sea repeatedly says and wants us to hear:
the
sea: wiffling tide-tales into mangroves and sedges
the
sea: pulsing old wisdoms up inlets and canals
the
sea: slapping wordy rhythms onto speeding hulls
the
sea: beating out phrases onto rocks and sand
but
even poets can’t reach into the language of sea;
yet we
know on obscure coasts, sea-words are held
in
the Methuselah tongues which are dying. Dying
and maybe
already erased, by the world take-over
with
an English language full of policy and commerce
which
has no words to give the sea speech – it cannot
conceive
of the surrounding sea being a crouching god
that
speaks - nor care, how it strikes the sea dumb
with
its ignorance. Our oceans shrunk to two words,
‘The
Sea.’
People
crowd to the cities. They fear the unknown.
No
sea-words known for the man to name the feeling
of loss
and sadness, which linger past ‘the little death,’
when the
release of his inner sea is gifted over to her.
No
sea-words known for the woman to name the depth
of
grief, which lingers on when the amniotic sea
she carried
within is lost as her sea-child is born.
The
sea left speechless, circling our land in vain.
The
sea left speechless, entwined in our DNA.
And
the sea-tears fall alive from the people - the proof
the
sea lives, always there, as it lifts and lowers tides,
both
within them, and without them.
Wordless,
the poets stumble on in their agony, urgent
to
hear, to learn, to return the sea-words back to the people.
Copyright: lois e hunter.
Oh the sea and the sounds...so important to hear. Love it Lois. Once again you strike the right cord! Thank you. :-) Diana
ReplyDeleteThanks Diana. Nice comment :)
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