If I could be bothered I'd describe the journey here.
I'd tell of falling headlong from the womb
into searing light – the cold that stuck like
pink gum to the heel of a sock,
fat faces, bad haircuts, scraped knees,
the maelstrom misunderstandings,
all the things that did not quite add up;
until that afternoon, a park bench -
a newspaper rising and falling
above ratchety breaths of poet-tramp,
slurped his lapsang suchong through
a bendy straw and qouted Beaudelaire -
tea total now - but soiled himself
all the same...
The stirring headline read:
'The Whale That Ate An Island'
and that was me done:
sold the things that made up years,
left post-it notes on family doors,
parting is such sweet sorrow message
bleeding in the condensation of the kitchen sash
for jilted girlfriend – she'd understand.
Then travelled the world,
talked sea monsters over sake,
bought a round for men with skin
like frying bacon in a Batsfjord drinking pit,
listened to slurring tales,
the hammering of cracked fists
on pine tables – stirred me up.
The boat near cleared me out,
took light provisions but figured
nature would provide if the worst happened.
Those were cold and lonely days.
Sometimes I would dream the sallow
crest of his topside rising in the night,
opening the water's skin slowly -
would watch me sleeping,
company for both of us I think
through all those salt-burned months –
anyway, my wilderness dreams
were pulling me home,
spent my time gazing at the browns of maps,
or half-blinded searching
across the rolling waves
for a dark end to flat horizons.
Then like a ghost of memory he climbed for air,
my small boat stumbled,
whipped spray soaking us both,
and my hands trembled –
because I did not expect terror and beauty,
the senses made drowsy,
the sun dying across its lines
as it rose...rose...leviathan.
Darkness plays tricks with memory.
We've made a sort of life in here,
they're teaching me innuit and I've
fashioned the harpoon into a makeshift guitar.
We mostly sing songs about sunshine and
I keep asking them to teach me all
the names they have for snow –
but it's a prickly topic and they
mutter in broken whispers through
mouthfuls of blubber
that snow won't get this whale eaten
from the inside out.
Comments
jennifer | March 29, 2011 - 21:55
Superb imagery, loved especially:
'Sometimes I would dream the sallow
crest of his topside rising in the night,
opening the water's skin slowly -'
think there's a typo in last stanza - 'mad' should be 'made'?
Just great!
J x
fatboy74 | March 29, 2011 - 22:03
That's strange jennifer, was just reading your POD poem and about to leave comment (a good one). Do you and Blighters have history? - he did not like that poem! Glad you enjoyed this and thanks for typo. :-)
sue dinum | March 29, 2011 - 22:40
Well done, fatboy, and good imagery as jennifer has rightly said. You produce some good stuff.
sd
Dynamaso | March 30, 2011 - 06:40
For a minute, I thought you might be Jonah but he never played the guitar. Stirring stuff, FB. I particularly liked the way you led the first stanza into the body of the beast. This demands to be reread numerous times. It's a pity the site doesn't have a 'favourite' button because I would mark this one for sure.
Highhat | March 30, 2011 - 08:43
This is so packed with fantasitic imagery. Words you can read again and again and extract what you want. Love the last stanza and the thought that all the words for snow are almost taboo. Wonderful fatboy. Thanks for enrichening my day and week. You did it again. Top of my favourite list. You stick there for sure!!!
;)Pia
Silver Spun Sand | March 30, 2011 - 09:33
Fantastic poem, fb, and rather than repeat all that has been so eloquently written by others, shall leave it at that;-)
Tina
skinner_jennifer | March 30, 2011 - 09:46
I also agree with all that has been said, you always
seem to beable to write with such imagination.
Thankyou for a brilliant read.
Jenny.
Beeme | March 30, 2011 - 11:01
I agree with all of the comments above. Stunning imagery I particularly like;
'I would dream the sallow
crest of his topside rising in the night,
opening the water's skin slowly -
would watch me sleeping,
company for both of us I think
through all those salt-burned months –'
More than well done :)
Beeme xx
oldpesky | March 30, 2011 - 11:30
What a brilliant read. Too many good bits to list them. Loved it.
fatboy74 | March 30, 2011 - 13:14
Sue, Dynamaso, Pia, Tina, Jenny, Beeme and oldpesky - thank you all so much for your very kind and generous comments, it is really appreciated and am so pleased this one was enjoyed. :-)
ATB Fatboy.
ScoZen | March 30, 2011 - 14:16
Hey fatboy.
How do you do it?
I loved this, great!'
Don't remember myself lying on the park bench though.
RachelPatricia | March 30, 2011 - 15:42
I give in, FB - I'm never going to have a 'favourite' poem of yours, am I? Just when I think I'm certain, you spin out another poetic masterpiece and I'm right back to square one. Second and last stanzas are ridiculously sublime - I'm with Scozen, how DO you bloody do it? :)
Actually, I don't want to know, it'd just spoil the magic. All I will say is that whenever I've been away for a while, I always know there's an FB-beauty waiting for when I get back. Love your stuff, this is my new fave - for now. Get a book published, pleeeease - I want you on my shelf!
Rachel xx
lenchenelf | March 30, 2011 - 16:52
Ahab re-visited. Surreal and vibrant :-) atb Lena x
Overthetop1 | March 30, 2011 - 17:06
I have run out of superlatives to describe your work! What imagery. Where does this all come from? I'd love to be in your head for one day (but you wouldn't want to be in mine!!).
fatboy74 | March 30, 2011 - 19:58
Struggling with manflu so everything including this poem seems a bit fuzzy - if it didn't hurt my brain to stare at the screen I might edit the bits I don't like any more, But more importantly Lena, Overthetop, Rachel and scozen thank you for such kind words. Really glad people like this and i'm not sure what's going on in my brain at the minute, these things just pop out, definitely had that book in my mind Lena and will try and get on that other book thing as quick as possible Rachel. You are all stars thanks. :-)
Apologies for not reading much other poetry, but I will soon I promise. ATB Fatboy
RachelPatricia | March 30, 2011 - 21:10
Ah, manflu - see you after Easter then, FB ;D
Almost don't want you to get better if this is what you're capable of when you're ill...begrudgingly, get a few Lemsips down you and get well soon ;)
Rachel xx
seashore | March 31, 2011 - 09:23
Hope you feel better soon.
Great of course as ever - has a kind of Moby Dick meets Robinson Crusoe meets Supertramp (Davies I mean) about it. Wish I knew how you do it.
skinner_jennifer | March 31, 2011 - 12:20
Hi fatboy,
I didn't realise you were ill with the flu, I really
do hope you are on the mend as I write this, if not,
get better soon. Take care.
Jenny.
Overthetop1 | March 31, 2011 - 14:42
Maybe the good side of Manflu might be kind of hallucinatory dreams that feed that ever fertile mind of yours. Get well soon. I am waiting for your next 'Too Much Sky!'. (No pressure though - get better first!)
tcook | April 1, 2011 - 18:00
This is not only our Poem of the Week it's also our Facebook and Twitter pick of the day.
Join us on Twitter @tcookabctales
Join us on Facebook at ABCtals.com
Get a great reading recommendation most days.
fatboy74 | April 1, 2011 - 20:01
Thanks Tony very good end to an awful week.
Thanks to all those who left feedback as well - much appreciated. I'll have to try a mixture of paracetomol, ibuprofen, nightnurse and lemsip the next time I write a poem.
ATB Fatboy
Highhat | April 1, 2011 - 22:54
I am sure that would give some nice psychadelic poems fatboy- wow- but this seems pretty much your usual good style. How do you do it with the flu and all???
Ha ha
;)Pia
barryj1 | April 4, 2011 - 12:58
Great poem. This is the sort of writing that you have to appreciate at multiple levels not unlike one of Berryman's Dreamsongs. It smacks you at a deeper, emotional level rather than strictly in the cerebellum. Also, I think every reader takes something completely different (i.e. personal) from the poem, which makes it doubly unique.
I read through this lovely piece multiple times. You really hit the bull's eye.
fatboy74 | April 4, 2011 - 16:54
Hi Pia - I don't really know but I still feel ropey!
Hi Barry, Thank you for taking the time to read and comment on this - your comments put mine to shame because they are always erudite and interesting. Really pleased you like this, under the influence of less drugs now (prescription -flu)I am also seeing different things in this poem which I don't usually. ATB Fatboy.
Steve Button | April 4, 2011 - 18:52
Epic - a terrific piece of work!
barryj1 | April 4, 2011 - 19:18
What you printed here is far better than ninety percent of the poetic drivel that the New Yorker /Atlantic monthly were printing in the eighties and nineties (i.e. that tedious academic/erutite prosy poetry).
In the Belly of the Whale has a truly lyrical quality. What you accomplish with this sort of verbal layering, creates an artistic texture that most readers pick up on immediately. Walt Whitman also did this frequently in his pedantic, controled and artistically disciplined rants. On occaision, ee cummings also favored a similar stylistic approach. I already mentioned Berryman and his magnificent, if somewhat obscure, Dreamsongs. That certainly puts you in very, very, very good company!
fatboy74 | April 4, 2011 - 21:21
Steve, great to hear from you, so glad you enjoyed this - cheers. :-)
Barry, I am humbled, and a little lost for words - my knowledge of Whitman and cummings is slight and Berryman non-existant. After your fine comment I will endeavour to broaden my horizons a fair bit, starting with a good old fashioned google-then-Amazon search. You are a gentleman. ATB Fatboy. :-)
RachelPatricia | April 10, 2011 - 15:57
Belated congrats, FB - really is a corker, this. Well done on POW, thoroughly deserved :)
Rachel xx
fatboy74 | April 11, 2011 - 10:33
Thanks Rachel :-)