As I drove through the heavy snow of Manquiville,
Deep in silence back to Grandfather's house, all frightened faces
Full of solemnly dreams, I remember the smell of the sea.
The unseen Grandpa's hands, pulling and pulling
The full net of fishes.
I remember my Grandpa at this moment haltered
His muscles so tight that I was able to see the thin
Veins become heavier, healthier, richer,
While his sternly eyes ahead like two brighter poisonous souls,
Waiting and waiting and waiting, whatever the reason
He had in mind.
I remember just to follow him where the wide sea even powerful
As he was growing now calmed through the tide waves falling
Behind his horizon. I love see him like this,
Where the dreadly underworld as unique as mercy
Could not control him.
I'm driving slowly now, and I can see the road,
The sea behind, the trees old and shadowless,
The town of Manquiville quieted, deathless, soundless,
All gone and dumb, behind the weaken sun.
I remember I looked down satisfied in the way it is going,
Who guarded the visitor’s hope, who greeted
The intruder who more than 25 years was gone!
What a delightful remembrance to see the dangerous
Floor through my mind beginning to murmur thousand
Of happy slaves soon or later be caught!
How close we are listening by the jealous Visitor,
Always in circle, still far away from the smell
Of the fisherman!
But there was no one. All empty and in white,
Cobwebs everywhere, the insects had come and gone,
Birds' nests are there, a snake emerged and hissing away,
All seem that they don't care who I am and why
I came back. It has been so long since the Fisherman is dead!
I remember the sea...that day, I think,
Oh, how wonderful is the sea lyre that you are dreaming
To hold underneath the stormy afternoon.
I remember the sea...the sea! Seeing the sky-blue crown
Give to my Grandpa and Me, almost tremble, the unknown pray
Of God, which carrying golden fishes, your treasure wall,
Deep, enormous, cold and deathly, we are still afraid of you!
I stop my fancy car, all around is the designed
Of muddy roses, birds and horses, wild squirrels,
Like a feast of yellow swamp, and I stand there,
Dressed by tie and fancy suit, a lawyer,
A sucked soul, coming to see his Grandfather deepened
In the muddy ground, filled with nasty fishes.
I remember so suddenly, the nets of that day
Became tensed, like our hearts and our eyes,
Which it was unable to handle by myself.
There! There! I cried all along inside the small boat
And here and there is when my Old Man becomes only one
Where body, soul, mind, wisdom, and energy --
Become one forcer to kill
And as he was pulling and pulling. His old arms,
Still strong like two brawny-whited iron pistons,
Pulling and pulling, and the fishes as ghastly eye,
Jumping and jumping, coolly frightened, exposing themselves Completely under the half-light of the moonlight!
Now I cannot move. Why I am here? Why did I come?
With love, with pain, with doubt,
All I cannot say, behind the muse I have,
How I can explain myself the beauties of my Grandpa?
But I remember that day. Oh, what a shining light!
I was there, with the oak wood, deathless,
Like tiny hands, but the spirit of some old Song,
Helping my Grandpa.
I remember I was wondering if those fishes have any souls.
To live, listening the other side of my head,
Where my Grandpa told you're not born being a Fisherman
But as a blending poet as myself.
I remember I caught his mouth full of smile, with a promise
To die anywhere except here in the sea.
I bend my knees, with his nostrils stealing
Of his arms, pulling and pulling like a long sound
Of violin which I never knew why he had told that.
And I remember, you could not play with the sea
Or the hungry fishes, now handsome and wilder,
To survive like me, to become a stranger
In the middle of the sea.
Now here, I am growing smaller
My smile fading, no reason to be here, who before the infant
Archer who crying freedom, ready to a man,
I bring shame to the place of Fisherman;
I smiled sadly, looked ahead, with wishes to kiss
The Old Man's face drawing by the ocean air
And let that old hands of fisherman carried my hair
To my blending soul,
And tell him I made a city boy under the sunlight,
But never as a dream piercing through the dimly sea.
Copyright © George Zamalea