The Long Island Sound is still dark
This early November morning
The sun rays begin to weave their hypnotic trance
Onto the ghostly reflection of Heart Island
Rippling through the mist
Electric strands of foggy light
Reflect onto the hypothermic surface of his troubled dreams
He begins to awake from a difficult sleep
Tossing and turning all night long
For he had split-up with his girlfriend
So his heart was empty
And his muse was murky and his mouth was dry
A good friend knocked on the front door
She asked him to get dressed and take a walk with her
So they could talk for a while
Perhaps to clear his soul
For she understood his pain
And wanted to console his inner turmoil
He got his book bag together
Where he kept all the poems he had ever written
He was something of a romantic
And his poetry was gaining some notoriety
At some of the clubs in the East Village
So out they went
Heading to the small drawbridge
And began to cross it
Halfway across he stopped
And took in a deep breath of fresh air
And placed his book bag on top the rail
She asked him how he was doing
For the night before he was somewhat "messed-up"
He just gazed into the sun
And shrugged his shoulders
Suddenly his book bag went over the edge
“Oh my god! That’s all my poems
There are no copies
I have to get them!”
“NO! The current is too strong!”
He didn’t listen
And leaped into the sound
As he grabbed onto the book bag
It began to sink
He started to swim back
But the weight was overwhelming
His clothes were drenched
The book bag was soaked
And his poems were spilling out
“Please get back!” she cried
He finally let go of the book bag
And began to swim back
But his heart was weak
He couldn’t withstand the loss of his girl
And his entire collection of poems
All in the same day
So as his heart sank into the depths of despair
All she could see through her tear filled eyes
Where sheets of paper drifting downstream
Looked like flower petals
Floating above his missing soul
Swept away down current
And into the passing dawn
* quote is from a headline in local newspaper:
“Poet is Swept Away In Hudson ‘feared drowned after diving in to retrieve writings’”
I took the liberty to write a fictitious poem/story based on a real event
A sad story told with greatest elegance, Robert. I could sense a lack of control over the world from both the N and P. Though unrelated, I tried to connect it to Lowell's "The Mouth of Hudson" and sensed a similar futily and brooding over the lack of control (which I mentioned upstairs)over the proceedings. A very good poem.
You know, this ellicits two paradoxical memories of one single poet... wanting to plunge into a building on fire to retrieve certain writings on a certain day, and throwing certain writes into a blazing fire the other day, glad to watch them burn in the awareness that new ones could only rise from the ashes of the old.
You felt then wrote masterfully here, Poet.
Love&Light*
Alexandra*
Unbelievable timing on this one. I can so understand. I just lost an entire novel. I finished it a couple of years ago, loved it, but thought there was 'something' missing. I set it aside, worked on other things, waiting for 'something' to hit. The computer crashed, the disk I thought I had saved this story on is blank except for the title written on the outside, and I lost my paper copy when I moved earlier this year. I feel as though a dear friend has died.
Makes me giddy staring into these sorts of physical and emotional depths, the currents and undertow are so strong. Can empathise with the calamitous loss of soul that might take place on losing all of one's life's work of written poetry, plus the cornerstone of one's emotional life at the same time. Like snowflakes, no two attempts at writing "the same poem" will ever fall onto the page in the same way again; they are completely of themselves and a thing of the moment in which they were conceived... their muse goes with them. Likewise a person, perhaps - particularly if the life of the poet has been bound up with them in terms of how they fuel and interact with all that pertains to the poetic equilibrium of the poet's make-up. Guess something of them is also contained in the life's breath of the poetry that has been conceived and lost, whether overtly or not. This is consuming, stark and graphic and it is no wonder that deep trouble is often likened to these kinds of swollen waters. The flower petals are a beautiful metaphor for this sad loss. Symbolic and significant. TY Kate xx
Your first story? Your recent fire quenched by the cold, unforgiving grasp of the sea. Thanks for the byline--could have been biographical except copies of your poems are spread across the Net like stars in the sky. Nice segway, Jude.
head is swimming in thoughts stirred by this, an unusual write for you. I love writing from a real headline or story and filling in the gaps. this one sweeps me into sadness but also lifts important life questions to top of mind, so I suppose it does its job well. the passing Dawn
Reviewed by Kate Clifford (Reader)
Reviewed on November 27, 2005
Sad that someone would value paper words more then the life that give the ability for those words to be on paper. Great write.
I've missed reading your work. Tonight I've been able to find a bit of time to read poetry here again and to add my comments. I know that I've missed quite a few of your poems and I promise I will catch up eventually but I did just want to leave a comment to this one. It was especially meaningful to me because something similar happened to me. Five years ago, my house was burgled (the first of many) and all my computer equipment was stolen, along with a case that contained my backup disks etc. What a lesson there is in that. Every single bit of writing and poetry that I'd written over twenty years was lost...all that is but for those that I'd printed hard copies. I cannot describe the devastation I felt. I can fully understand why the poet jumped into the water to rescue his work. You have depicted this so incredibly well.
Chanti
This is so poignant yet with the heart of a poet writing about another poet to his fellow poets it is a divine offering my friend and you did true justice to this poor man's death.
This is indeed heartbreaking. To lose one's love and then the poems in one day is too much for the poet to bear. I hope his love comes back to him eventually.
Who knows if your "liberty" might actually be or not be what had happened, or some resemblance therein...such talent in poetry you have, just don't test your swimming mettle agains the mighty Hudson, seems most lose their battle with big rivers...Ed
Tolostoy once wrote "How much Land Does a Man Need?" based on a man who love land very much. He spent the whole day marking land for himself but could return to a spot he was told to come before sunset. He ran and ran and ran back. his supporters waved and cried please make it. But he died. Now a poet waded into a river to save his book bag which he lost with a single shrug. and his girlfriend cried please come back. The two stories have some similarities in regard to the pain invloved in the action.Great poem
This is actually very sad me thinks...and can be seen as the reality of someones elses life aswell...felt like this a few times!!
Love Tinka
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on November 27, 2005
I love the hidden subtext. Swept away! Powerful in the fact that it could be true. Life like the Hudson flows with many twists turns and majestic scenery.
To this sad/romantic write.
I have never seen you write this way (I can understand it)lol.
The mighty Hudson. My fav river. From my window at Cold Springs with the snow and dawning sun was majestic too. Love the secnic journey from grand cent' to poughkeepsie.
Fine wine ambigious gentle poem..
Reviewed by * T *
Reviewed on November 26, 2005
You had me worried there for a moment! ... Wow, this is a tragedy, very sad, Jude ...
WHAT an intuitive awakening! Swept Away equals the free flow of breath restored! MY breath! My butt muscles sank to the floor! An A with + sign in front of it, Jude. Thanks for making the grade, ALways making the grade! What a great way to recycle a newspaper story!
A Collection of Voices from Around the World is more than just a poetry compilation. It is a partnership of poets from around the globe brought together by an internet poetry forum. That forum, poetrypages.com, has been the home of many a fine poet s
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
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Peter
D
You felt then wrote masterfully here, Poet.
Love&Light*
Alexandra*
Allen
We All Look For That Dream Girl Only To Find She's Floating Somewheres Above Her Own Missing Soul Sole...
Unique Different!
TRASK
Ron
Chanti
Dan
Chrissy K. McVay
Love & Light,
Joseph
Felix
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o(
This is actually very sad me thinks...and can be seen as the reality of someones elses life aswell...felt like this a few times!!
Love Tinka
To this sad/romantic write.
I have never seen you write this way (I can understand it)lol.
The mighty Hudson. My fav river. From my window at Cold Springs with the snow and dawning sun was majestic too. Love the secnic journey from grand cent' to poughkeepsie.
Fine wine ambigious gentle poem..
Sage
Must feel eerie it being so close to you and a poet etc uncanny...