{"id":3356,"date":"2021-06-03T09:41:23","date_gmt":"2021-06-03T13:41:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3356"},"modified":"2021-06-03T09:41:25","modified_gmt":"2021-06-03T13:41:25","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-132","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2021\/06\/03\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-132\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #132"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Photo by NOAA<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

When I was a kid I went through a stage when I was fascinated by shipwrecks. The Titanic <\/em>was a particular interest but shipwrecks in general caught my imagination. They were scary and fascinating and full of stories. I remember a beach we went to on Cape Cod on a wreck way out on the horizon and I always wished I could visit it somehow. I like this poem by Adrienne Rich even though my interest in shipwrecks does not include an interest in diving. Reading about them is definitely the way to go for me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
First having read the book of myths,\nand loaded the camera,\nand checked the edge of the knife-blade,\nI put on\nthe body-armor of black rubber\nthe absurd flippers \nthe grave and awkward mask.\nI am having to do this\nnot like Cousteau with his\nassiduous team\naboard the sun-flooded schooner\nbut here alone. \n\nThere is a ladder.\nThe ladder is always there\nhanging innocently\nclose to the side of the schooner.\nWe know what it is for,\nwe who have used it.\nOtherwise\nit is a piece of maritime floss\nsome sundry equipment.\n\nI go down.\nRung after rung and still\nthe oxygen immerses me\nthe blue light \nthe clear atoms \nof our human air.\nI go down.\nMy flippers cripple me,\nI crawl like an insect down the ladder\nand there is no one\nto tell me when the ocean \nwill begin.\n\nFirst the air is blue and then\nit is bluer and then green and then\nblack I am blacking out and yet\nmy mask is powerful\nit pumps my blood with power\nthe sea is another story\nthe sea is not a question of power\nI have to learn alone\nto turn my body without force\nin the deep element.\n\nAnd now: it is easy to forget \nwhat I came for\namong so many who have always \nlived here\nswaying their crenellated fans\nbetween the reefs\nand besides\nyou breathe differently down here.\n\nI came to explore the wreck.\nThe words are purposes.\nThe words are maps.\nI came to see the damage that was done\nand the treasures that prevail.\nI stroke the beam of my lamp\nslowly along the flank\nof something more pemament\nthan fish or weed\n\nthe thing I came for:\nthe wreck and not the story of the wreck\nthe thing itself and not the myth\nthe drowned face always staring \ntoward the sun\nthe evidence of damage\nworn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty\nthe ribs of the disaster\ncurving their assertion \namong the tentative haunters.\n\nThis is the place. \nAnd I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair\nstreams black, the merman in his armored body.\nWe circle silently\nabout the wreck\nwe dive into the hold.\nI am she: I am he\n\nwhose drowned face sleeps with open eyes\nwhose breasts still bear the stress \nwhose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies\nobscurely inside barrels\nhalf-wedged and left to rot\nwe are the half-destroyed instruments\nthat once held to a course \nthe water-eaten log \nthe fouled compass\n\nWe are, I am, you are\nby cowardice or courage \nthe one who find our way\nback to this scene\ncarrying a knife, a camera\na book of mythis\nin which \nour names do not appear.\n\nDiving Into the Wreck\nAdrienne Rich<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
Visit Brona<\/a> for another poem this week. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When I was a kid I went through a stage when I was fascinated by shipwrecks. The Titanic was a particular interest but shipwrecks in general caught my imagination. They were scary and fascinating and full of stories. I remember a beach we went to on Cape Cod on a wreck way out on the horizon and I always wished I could visit it somehow. I like this poem by Adrienne Rich even though my interest in shipwrecks does not include an interest in diving. Reading about them is definitely the way to go for me. First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for, we who have used it. Otherwise it is a piece of maritime floss some sundry equipment. I go down. Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses me the blue light the clear atoms of our human air. I go down. My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladder and there is no one to tell me when the ocean will begin. First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power the sea is another story the sea is not a question of power I have to learn alone to turn my body without force in the deep element. And now: it is easy to forget what I came for among so many who have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans between the reefs and besides you breathe differently down here. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail. I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flank of something more pemament than fish or weed the thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staring toward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disaster curving their assertion among the tentative haunters. This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silently about the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrels half-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course the water-eaten log the fouled compass We are, I am, you are by cowardice or courage the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera a book of mythis in which our names do not appear. Diving Into the Wreck Adrienne Rich Visit Brona for another poem this week.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3357,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3356","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3356","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3356"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3356\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3359,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3356\/revisions\/3359"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3357"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3356"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3356"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3356"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}