The Capstan's Arc
"Please tell me. Did my father save my life
That day I swung upon the capstan arm?"
"Of course. Though light, my child, your flying leap
Dislodged the iron prop. You stood transfixed
As in the quay below, the slick greased cogs
Responded to the overwhelming weight
Of water pent within the harbour walls.
I gasped to see the accelerating arm
Describe a circle round its creaking hub
At child's head height certain to dash the brains
From my son's skull......"
"....And then? I need to know
If my memories of that day are real."
"The great lock doors, parting, began to groan,
Releasing foetid water from the dock -
I hear it gushing now, a quiet roar
That drowned the seagulls' cries. The foamy scum,
Jetsam, and oily rainbow-coloured smears,
As if the distant sea had whispered, 'Come,'
Spreading a furtive rumour of release,
Began to shoulder through the widening breach.
Hearing my scream your father (rest his soul)
Laid hands upon the arcing capstan arm
And leaning backwards, braced against the pull,
To slow, then halt, the progress of the flail."
"And did his muscles bulge, his sinews strain?"
"Alone he fought the water's crushing strength -
It seemed as if the wooden arm would split
But deep within its grain the sturdy oak
Responded to your father's oaken will.
Yes, his muscles bulged, his sinews strained
And veins within his neck and temples pulsed.
Bless him. I called, you ran into my arms.
Buttons on my summer frock made imprints
In your cheeks."
"Did he secure the lock gates?"
"I helped him with the heavy iron prop.
The fishing fleet was saved, and so were you."
"So, it is true, then?"
"In our memories.
Then later you and your father threw stones,
As I looked on, into the rising tide,
And at sunset we watched the fleet depart."
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Comments: 36
I loved the sound and rhythm of your lines:
As if the distant sea had whispered, 'Come,' / Spreading a furtive rumour of release, / Began to shoulder through the widening breach.
The power and the rudeness of water, rolling uninvited and rowdy...all show up here.
Excellent read.
I would thank that father, for saving the melon that crafts such beauty.
Blessings,
Wilka
Wilka
Peril, pride, and peace
I enjoyed this thrilling tale.
Thanks, Mike.
Wonderful work.
I must admit, my mum doesn't actually speak in iambic pentameter. I think John R's comment that 'this is the stuff of legends' is spot on. There is a tradition in English poetry, epitomized by Dryden, called Mock Heroic which is often savagely satirical. Here I was trying to create a much gentler, affectionate, nay, loving, scarcely mocking, but smiling at one's own perhaps overblown family legends sort of thing.
The serious point in the poem rests on the metaphor of just how hard parents ought to struggle to save their children from the cesspool. Perhaps some parents try too hard. Then again, perhaps some don't try hard enough.
At any rate, the sea will eventually rise and the fleet will sail.
I did enjoy the poem, the images, and I found the wording compelling in this case. Very interesting and different.
is a great chance to read,
Thank you Mike and the perspective perfection gained !!!
on your great blissful feel - in the verse !!!
I really, really like that nuance. How did I miss that through all the other reads?
I wonder what I'll find on the next read?
Wilka
I appreciated John B's comment about the extending the iambic pentameter to the final lines. I just had a hunch that the heightened language of legend needed to be brought back down to earth and that we should have a cup of tea and carry on as if nothing had happened.
Wilka, what I sometimes wonder is, if he didn't catch it, would I have noticed the beam coming round and clung onto it as it reached me and thoroughly enjoyed the ride! I will never know.