{"id":323,"date":"2019-10-03T16:35:57","date_gmt":"2019-10-03T16:35:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/?page_id=323"},"modified":"2019-12-16T19:49:15","modified_gmt":"2019-12-16T19:49:15","slug":"poetry","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/poetry\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Here is some of the poetry I have written.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/i><\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/i><\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tNootka Sound Return<\/a>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\n\t\t\t\t\t

This poem describes the memorable events of the last day of a trip I took to Nootka Sound in 2019 with Fire-Drake.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Pale dawn light breaks with song of thrush and wren,<\/p>\n

Tucked behind small island in McBride Bay.<\/p>\n

Anchor fouled; I was lucky once again.<\/p>\n

Sport fish boats speed, full throttle, on their way,<\/p>\n

Missing subtle charm of forest and shore,<\/p>\n

To reach some spot where they plan to go slow.<\/p>\n

Tahsis Inlet heights, where stern eagles soar,<\/p>\n

Through rain clouds threat, brief gaps of bright sun glow.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sea otters float, ignore my intrusion,<\/p>\n

Smash their bivalves with shocking violence.<\/p>\n

Best bays blocked due to fish farms exclusion,<\/p>\n

Yes, we need protein but this makes no sense.<\/p>\n

Converted mine sweep, Uchuck III, on her way,<\/p>\n

She\u2019s an old friend, a reassuring sight.<\/p>\n

Alongside Gore Island, will the breeze stay?<\/p>\n

Wind holds through the gap, sweat halyards up tight.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Five knots straightaway, we\u2019re nearly hull speed,<\/p>\n

If we hit six then it\u2019s time to reef down.<\/p>\n

Sun\u2019s out now with dappled cloud above peaks.<\/p>\n

The scene is sublime, no place for a frown.<\/p>\n

Now speed is more than six, sometimes seven,<\/p>\n

Wind over transom tops more than twenty.<\/p>\n

Reef time once more, round up and drop the main,<\/p>\n

Straight to third reef, though small, it\u2019s still plenty.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

We\u2019re on a tear now, still way too much sail,<\/p>\n

Furl up the mizzen, blowing twenty five.<\/p>\n

A glance at the chart, there\u2019s no place to bail;<\/p>\n

Shouldn\u2019t be here – can I get out alive?<\/p>\n

Can\u2019t reef any more so hang on and steer,<\/p>\n

The boat picks up her skirts and off she planes.<\/p>\n

Speed\u2019s up past nine now, beginnings of fear,<\/p>\n

First time this quick, maybe never again.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The wharf and launch ramp are approaching fast,<\/p>\n

How the hell to pull off dropping the rig?<\/p>\n

Sheltered a bit by the point once I\u2019m past,<\/p>\n

There lies my hope, where the swell\u2019s not too big.<\/p>\n

Throw the helm over, shoot in to the lee,<\/p>\n

Water is flatter, the wind still blows hard.<\/p>\n

Wrestle the sail down on a still rough sea,<\/p>\n

The sail won\u2019t behave \u2018til I grab the yard.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Strike both the masts and ship both of the oars,<\/p>\n

From broadside on, try to heave the stern round,<\/p>\n

She wants to broach – but one short strong pull more,<\/p>\n

I\u2019m hard by the quay, for the ramp inbound.<\/p>\n

A dock hand shouts: Were you sailing<\/em> out there?<\/p>\n

In those waves, in that little boat I see?<\/p>\n

You bet, I reply, just for fun, I swear,<\/p>\n

Although it may not be your cup of tea.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

On final approach the wind is no more,<\/p>\n

The heat off the land exhales in great gouts.<\/p>\n

Tie up the boat, drag my tired butt ashore,<\/p>\n

Excitement\u2019s done, now it\u2019s time to chill out.<\/p>\n

Alex Zimmerman 2019<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/i><\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/i><\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tLast Day in Grenville Channel <\/a>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\n\t\t\t\t\t

This poem describes the longest day I experienced on the second half of my 2017 Inside Passage trip in my sail and oar boat, Fire-Drake, from Prince Rupert to Port Hardy. That trip forms the last chapter of my book, Becoming Coastal<\/em>. I toyed with the idea of including the poem in the book, but the book was very long already.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The morning sun at the head of the inlet shines down on the waterfall\u2019s roar,<\/p>\n

As another day dawns in a whispering breeze on the trail of sail and oar.<\/p>\n

With this wind there might be no need to stretch and pull and curl,<\/p>\n

I might have a chance to raise those sails, too long so tightly furled.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

So hurry the breakfast, pack up the tent and stow the rest of the gear,<\/p>\n

Lower the board, step both the masts, drop the mizzen and cleat it in.<\/p>\n

Hoist up the foresail, then from the bottom, break the anchor clear.<\/p>\n

Take the tiller in hand, harden in the sheet, and settle back with a grin.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I wish you were here to see me, boys, finally – a sailing day!<\/p>\n

But hope is dashed as I round the corner, for out in the main channel there,<\/p>\n

The zephyr grows more ever more fitful, then it completely dies away,<\/p>\n

\u2018Twas naught but a vagrant sea breeze, a delusion and a snare.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I lower the rig, fit the oars in the locks and bend my back once more,<\/p>\n

And what\u2019s worse luck, I have the tide to buck, all morning along the shore.<\/p>\n

As hours tick slowly by, only short breaks can I find, and for them I am more than ready,<\/p>\n

In the weakened current behind a point, sometimes there\u2019s even a back-eddy.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Then just when I need it, along about noon, I pull into a small creek mouth,<\/p>\n

A place to rest, drop the hook and eat, watch the boats, then once more head south.<\/p>\n

The tide\u2019s turned, the sun\u2019s out, the wind\u2019s up, perhaps this time to stay,<\/p>\n

I wanted good wind for sailing, now I\u2019ve got it, it\u2019s time to be on my way.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The tide\u2019s in my favour the whole afternoon, though I\u2019m headed twelve mile dead to windward,<\/p>\n

Though where I\u2019m bound won\u2019t see me there soon, I\u2019ll be tack upon tack, shore to shore, sailing hard.<\/p>\n

Ah, what a glorious sail that day, perhaps the best that ever I\u2019ll see!<\/p>\n

Set up the GPS; keep one eye on the telltales, and one eye on the VMG.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The least little lapse in attention, and the speed it drops by a knot,<\/p>\n

Concentrate, lad, stay focused! \u00a0Don\u2019t deviate your helm by a jot,<\/p>\n

And maybe, just possibly, maybe, in this narrow and desolate channel, so very far from home,<\/p>\n

If you sail the reach of it, to the best of your skill, though there\u2019s no one to witness your deed,<\/p>\n

You\u2019ll win through to a quiet safe harbour, far from the tumult and foam,<\/p>\n

Before the tide turns against you and bright day to dark night finally cedes.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

A mere mile and a half to the Point now, a couple more tacks and I\u2019m round,<\/p>\n

But the afternoon\u2019s gone and so is my tide and with it my sailing wind.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m back on the oars, and fighting a slop, left over from out in the Sound,<\/p>\n

Now bury the loom of the oar, now slice off the top of a wave, I wish the sea would make up its mind.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I\u2019d hoped to be out of it well before now, near the end of this long, long day,<\/p>\n

But there is nowhere to run and nothing to be done, except heave and sweat and curse.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

At long last the Point\u2019s gained, and slowly round it I creep, to the shelter of the deep wide bay,<\/p>\n

Where the sea is dead still, and quietly I dip and lift the leaden oars, while aching muscles I nurse.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The waxing moon tracks close behind the orange of the setting sun, down the fading blue sky of the west,<\/p>\n

As I anchor my boat a cable from shore, I feel I\u2019ve earned me an outsized beer, then a long tranquil night of rest.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Alex Zimmerman, 2019<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

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These two brief poems, written in classic Shakespearean sonnet style we all learned in high school (iambic pentameter, ten syllables per line, seven rhyming couplets) are about ecological disaster, specifically climate change. One is written from a place of anger at politicians and business leaders who spout the right word but who do nothing, while the other is written from a place of hope, that there are solutions, based on a new way of being, based on ancient wisdom learned from First Nations ways of understanding.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sonnet 1: Spin <\/strong><\/p>\n

Sacred mother, connecting all that lives,<\/p>\n

You gave us minds, you gave us physics clear,<\/p>\n

You leave no doubt what each of us must give,<\/p>\n

But there are plenty who refuse to hear,<\/p>\n

Who somehow imagine that they\u2019re immune,<\/p>\n

From karma\u2019s reckoning or consequence.<\/p>\n

Our leaders say, we\u2019ll action it real soon.<\/p>\n

One percent swears; world can\u2019t bear that expense,<\/p>\n

Meaning, of course, it curbs their privilege.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s none so blind as those who will not see,<\/p>\n

That they\u2019re casting themselves beyond the edge.<\/p>\n

Swept up in their foul wake are you and me.<\/p>\n

So our leaders, they spin; the world, it burns,<\/p>\n

Who should lead just spin, meanwhile the world burns.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sonnet 2: Regeneration <\/strong><\/p>\n

Sacred mother, connecting all that thrives,<\/p>\n

Be it quick life or slow eroding stone.<\/p>\n

Now teach us to co-operate, not strive.<\/p>\n

Show us gardens that First Nations have sown.<\/p>\n

Our stale old mode of thought, replaced must be.<\/p>\n

A clear new way of being true, we need,<\/p>\n

One less like machines, and more like a tree.<\/p>\n

That ancient wisdom the world needs to heed.<\/p>\n

We are not other, not set above all.<\/p>\n

We must recognise ourselves in the whole,<\/p>\n

Find the courage, the grit, the wherewithal,<\/p>\n

Grasp the new future, seek the worthy goal.<\/p>\n

Nature and humankind can integrate,<\/p>\n

Through bold design we must regenerate.<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

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Salish Sea <\/strong><\/p>\n

Tarnished jewel; Salish Sea of the soul.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 Sun calm, hot dry, Arbutus-dappled shade,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 ancient village midden sleeps under knoll.<\/p>\n

What value are these; how shall they be weighed?<\/p>\n

\u00a0 against our fossil fuel dependence,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 whose careless ravages obliterate<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 small night creature\u2019s bioluminescence,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 and harry lean Orcas in their home Strait.<\/p>\n

Chip laden barge brassy water does pound,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 monstrous cruise palace tankers blind to whales.<\/p>\n

Just one house more; one more road on the ground,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 onward creeps human tide, sweeping wholesale.<\/p>\n

Your beauty we\u2019ll defend with our last breath,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 while our compulsion will love you to death.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Haida Gwaii <\/strong><\/p>\n

Gale guarded, fog shrouded isles in my dreams,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 vast sea urchin\u2019d walls \u2018neath pearlescent deeps,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 tree clad inlets decant pure bubbling streams.<\/p>\n

Cloud clears, then gaze to distant mountain leaps.<\/p>\n

Watchmen and paddlers converge on Hot Springs,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 limb\u2019s rest and heart\u2019s ease by bright fire are found.<\/p>\n

Waterfowl frantic on swift whistling wings,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0 raven and eagle in each cove abound.<\/p>\n

Elders now teach us what we all should know,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 their wisdom long eons, homeland has graced.<\/p>\n

Totems mute witness – high culture brought low,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 not gone, still strong, stopped chain saw\u2019s witless waste.<\/p>\n

New way\u2019s guardians; continent\u2019s outpost,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 sacred heartland, this Haida Gwaii, wild coast.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Vancouver Island Outer Coast <\/strong><\/p>\n

Broad powder sand beach, surf break\u2019s endless roar,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 above storm tide, bleached logs, seaweed wrack,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 plastic, plastic, plastic from far offshore.<\/p>\n

Ghostly Cougar not seen \u2013 merely his track,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 Wolf brothers watch close their territory.<\/p>\n

Sand fleas in night\u2019s fire smell just like shrimp roast,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0 Grey whales feed in peace; once they were quarry.<\/p>\n

Trollers and seiners still hunt all this coast.<\/p>\n

Through mist I watch Osprey\u2019s imperative \u2013<\/p>\n

\u00a0 Stark is the lesson \u2013 fit in or perish,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 will we learn on time that\u2019s how we must live?<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 or surely we lose all that we cherish.<\/p>\n

Here on the edge, is there nowhere to go?<\/p>\n

Or does this begin what there is to know?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

North Coast <\/strong><\/p>\n

Snow crowned mountains with their feet in the sea,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 white falls tumbling straight down to tidewater.<\/p>\n

Salmon bodies feed sacred cedar trees,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0 wrapped safe in kelp beds; vital sea otters.<\/p>\n

Grizzlies on beaches flipping over stones,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 jade liquid slow lapping on hard white sand,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 yellow iris meadows filled with bees\u2019 drone,<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 thrush calls, wren warbles, soft behind the strand.<\/p>\n

Slashing rains driven by the rising gale,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 give way to mist-shrouded dead calm dark fjords.<\/p>\n

Cannon-shot breaching of a humpback whale,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 night sky stars like lasers; galaxy\u2019s swords.<\/p>\n

The mind will not focus, the heart it yearns,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 soon back to my north coast I must return.<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Here is some of the poetry I have written. Nootka Sound Return This poem describes the memorable events of the last day of a trip I took to Nootka Sound in 2019 with Fire-Drake. \u00a0 Pale dawn light breaks with song of thrush and wren, Tucked behind small island in McBride Bay. Anchor fouled; I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"default","ast-site-content-layout":"","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-323","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"uagb_featured_image_src":{"full":false,"thumbnail":false,"medium":false,"medium_large":false,"large":false,"1536x1536":false,"2048x2048":false},"uagb_author_info":{"display_name":"Alex Zimmerman","author_link":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/blog\/author\/ajzimm_da817610\/"},"uagb_comment_info":0,"uagb_excerpt":"Here is some of the poetry I have written. Nootka Sound Return This poem describes the memorable events of the last day of a trip I took to Nootka Sound in 2019 with Fire-Drake. \u00a0 Pale dawn light breaks with song of thrush and wren, Tucked behind small island in McBride Bay. Anchor fouled; I…","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/323","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=323"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/323\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":537,"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/323\/revisions\/537"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alexzimmerman.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=323"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}