[Cally Conan-Davies]

Revision 1




The Hippolyte Rocks


The weight of water passing through my hands
with every stroke. A fleeting glimpse of sky
with every roll. How water understands
the need to part. Other laws apply.

Anything can happen. Land is lost.
Mutter and moan, the sea is open-mouthed,
in the hollow of the green swell glides an albatross
heading for the ice sheet, old, severe and loved.

They'll be here soon, the horses, once they've bolted
to ride the element of everywhere.
The horses! Here they come! The mind is altered
by angels breaking reins in whelms of air,

re-created in the wind-bent waves.

I have met the horses face to face.







The Hippolyte Rocks


The weight of water passing through my hands
with every stroke. A fleeting glimpse of sky
with every roll. How water understands
the need to part. Other laws apply.

Anything can happen. Land is lost.
Mutter and moan, the sea is open-mouthed,
a deep green swell conceals an albatross
gliding on time, believing he is loved.

They'll be here soon, the horses, once they've bolted
to ride the element of everywhere.
The horses! Here they come! The mind is altered
by angels breaking reins in whelms of air,

re-created by the wind-bent waves.

I have met the horses face to face.

[Rick Mullin]

Hi Cally,

Some quick notes-- I know, it's ~~The Deep End~~ Yadda yadda...

This is pretty good. I like the horses. A few things.

Maybe it would be stronger if the ending were not past tense: "I meet the horses face to face." A beat short...so what?

Also, I want a truer rhyme at the end of this poem. And, of course, I want you to close those lines up, but I realize this request will disappear in whelms of air.

About that: "the element of everywhere" and "whelms of air" are the kind of lines that come easily and define their own space for interpretation, IE huge. They are "spacey" with a certain "oh-wow-man!" element to them. The first segment of the poem has such simple and solid language, that when these phrases hit, I'm disappointed. I know you're going for a particular effect (from physical elements up top to elements of wonder post volta), but I think you should impose the constraint of rejecting such expressions here.

In the upper half, there are enjambments that employ a familiar mechanism. But imagine the stanza without the wrapped-around parts. This isn't a suggested rewrite of the stanza, obviously, but I don't think you loose anything for what you gain by cutting thee wrap-arounds, which I think have a deadening effect:

The weight of water passing through my hands.
A fleeting glimpse of sky.
How water understands
the need to part.
Other laws apply.


I think "passing" and "fleeting" carry the natural effect of waves and wind and their interaction. I might actually not be bugged by that last line getting spaced out! You could do that in some fashion with a real sonnet stanza swinging into the turn.

"Other laws apply" is a great turn signal.

Rick


Note: This is actually close enough to the correct length to count as a ~The Deep End~ crit! But does it weigh enough...? ~,:^(

[Carl Copeland]

Another gloriously lilting poem, Cally!

My favorite bit is “How water understands the need to part. Other laws apply”—“simple and solid,” as Rick says, and yet so odd and beautiful.

Least persuasive for me is “believing he is loved.” I doubt that animals believe anything about themselves, so the personification seemed contrived.

I suppose the horses are the islands themselves, seeming to bolt towards the swimmer as she approaches (Hippolyte meaning “releaser of horses”).

I didn’t know “whelm” could be a noun, but I see that it can be used poetically for a surge of water.

I think I disagree with Rick about the tense of the last line. It’s an exalted experience—like seeing God face to face—and might be cheapened if readers shared it in the present. Note that the line is also metrically ambiguous, since “I have met” could easily be an anapest. A word like “and” at the beginning would fix that if it’s a concern.

Keep singing, Cally!

[Roger Slater]

Yes, pretty good. I also agree with a lot of Rick's other comments. Here are a few other thoughts.

In L4, I would make it "... How other laws apply."

Rather than "conceals an albatross", perhaps "reveals" one? If there is a non-omniscient human speaker sharing observations, which I assume given the "I" in the final line, then how could she know that an albatross is concealed behind the swell?

I'm not sure where the angels suddenly come from, and "breaking reins" confuses me a bit. I looked up the phrase and variations and couldn't find it used this way. "Breaking reins" are a kind of rein, no? At any rate, I couldn't parse how the line worked its grammar and syntax.

I'm not sure about "wind-bent waves." Aren't all waves wind-bent? To me, this suggests the same criticism that Rick had about the other "oh-wow-man" phrases.

I agree with Rick about changing the tense of the last line, but I'd go for future tense.

Though the poems don't really have a lot in common, I'm finding your poem keeps making me think of Kipling's "Seal Lullaby," which I love for the flipperling and the slow-swinging seas.

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by Roger Slater

"breaking reins" confuses me a bit. I looked up the phrase and variations and couldn't find it used this way. "Breaking reins" are a kind of rein, no? At any rate, I couldn't parse how the line worked its grammar and syntax.

I wondered about that too and decided the horses snapped their reins when they bolted—or, rather, the angels did it, whoever they are.

[Jim Moonan]

.
Your title anchors the poem. (I looked it up. I think you're in the Tasmanian reef water) But then you pull up anchor and begin to move through air and on land.

The first stanza is quintessential mindfulness in a way only poetry can reveal, imo.
Stanzas 2 and 3 seem to slip from water to a dream/vision of sky (albatross) and land (horses).

Two images struck me:

Anything can happen. Land is lost.
Mutter and moan, the sea is open-mouthed,

It sparked in me a glimpse of all the rivers of earth opening their mouths to the sea. What a beautiful sight!

and this:

The horses! Here they come! The mind is altered
by angels breaking reins in whelms of air,

The phrase “breaking reins” tugged at me. I didn't know what it meant. I looked it up and still can’t say for sure what it means, but in the process I came across a short video entitled “Breaking Reins” and it colored your poem with meaning that may not relate to what you intended, but it sure feels right.

I absolutely love the last two (spaced) lines that find themselves rhyming even though they don't.

It is the way the poem moves that makes it so striking to me. Roger and Rick suggest you change the tense of the last line to future. Yet I see a fluid movement from future to present to past encapsulated in the last six lines that indicates a kind of wisdom attained through experience.

.

[Rick Mullin]

I agree with Roger on future tense.

[Cally Conan-Davies]

Rickster, (and Roger, too, as you both agree),

I've spent a day digesting your comments, and experimenting along the lines you suggest, and I ended up feeling deflated. The thing felt dead on the page. Too many words. Then I went back and read the original for the first time in 24 hours, and suddenly felt the wind in my sails again! I think what fell away was the visionary quality of the experience. Well, that's what I hoped was there from the start, and I completely accept I lack the skill to pull it off. And it's possible some way of catching the experience in words will come to me one day, but at this moment, I can't see anything that fits better than what's there.

For instance, the initial enjambments sort of enact the swimming motion for me, the regular over and over feel in the body, and the rotation. And the tense of the last line feels so right to me, too. I see it as Carl does, as an exalted state. And there's a holy stillness to it, the stillness within and just after a transforming event.

I can't yet see an alternative to 'everywhere' and 'whelms of air'. Swimming on the open ocean—I don't know the word for it but everywhere, or nowhere. 'everywhere' sounds so open. Also, I wanted the language to change through the course of the poem, to reflect the upheaval of the huge waves.

I tried making the couplet a full rhyme. But again, it felt too locked in, and most of the time that's necessary in a sonnet. In this case, I enjoy the flux in the sound between 'waves' and 'face' .
I'm not trying to say this poem is finished, but that as yet I can't see a better way. I would dearly love one day to have the ability to recreate in language the experience of awe I get from ocean swimming. To share it, really, the interpentration of world and mind.

Thanks for engaging with it! I'm glad you like the horses! Since I was little I've thought of the waves as horses, and of course the Greek myths go there first! Euripides' Hippolytus is one of my fave Greek dramas.

Roger, thanks! See above. Also, I didn't repeat 'how' because I don't want the effect of anaphora. I want a caesura at that moment. I do love caesuras, moments of silence, breaks. I'm becoming aware that I use them a lot. They can shift everything, indicate a turn in thought-track. Also, for the music.

I get your concern about the conceal/reveal conundrum. This is one of the most awe-inspiring experiences I've ever known, so it means a lot to me that it works, or comes across. Even with 'reveal' it didn't feel right. I tried lots of things. Then I read the Kipling which I must have read as a child but had forgotten, and how lovely it is! And this morning I saw that it held a clue for how I could go with that line! It's the sense of the great hollow between the ocean swells that I want. You know when you've left the coastal waters when that deep hollow happens. So I used 'hollow', and got rid of the conceal/reveal dilemma. I like the new line, so a thousand thanks for the 'Seal Lullaby'! I really appreciate all the times you've pointed me to other poems. It's always helped me.

Not all waves are wind-bent. The ones I'm trying to recreate definitely are—the ones where the wind is blowing the spindrift off the back of them, and it look like manes flying! I love the sound of wind-bent waves, too!

I don't know where the angels came from, either. Whenever I'm faced with a powerful force, I think 'angel'. That's what they are to me, not the cute cherub kind. Angels are powers. The force of a white-capped wave moving towards you, knowing it will overpower you -- says angels to me. The 'breaking reins' -- I didn't think it. It came on the back of the angels. Reading it now, for me it's about the release of emotions, emotional release. Not holding back. Impossible to hold back. I also like the suggestion of 'breaking REIGNS'. Not control, but breaking rules the waters.

But as I said to Rick, the state of the poem is fluid. It's just that I'm not seeing yet any better alternatives. You've helped a lot. Thank you!

Carl, many thanks! And that was the weakest spot for me, too. Not that I have a problem with personification, but that this was a lazy option. I must have been carried away by the sound of "believe" and "love" -- lieve/love. So I've changed that line thanks to your push, along with the line before due to Roger's push. I like the second stanza better now! I think it's better.

The horse are waves. They do break on the islands, of course. It's a stunning place, the southernmost edge of Tasmania where I live.

I'm relieved you read the last line as I do. The gods. I also see what you mean about the possible anapest reading. My hope is that the trochaic line before it, together with the space to let that rhythm take hold, will lead the reader to stress the "I". Musically, and in a visionary way, I'd like to begin the last line with "I" rather than "And".

And that's how I see the breaking reins, too. I don't really separate the waves from the horses from the angels. There's transformation going on, the mythic and material completely interpenetrating. I don't know how else to show it yet. I don't have the words. I'll keep trying! Thank you so much for your suggestions and your encouragement, Carl!

Jim, believe me, it counts. Your crits always do. You're really onto something with "quintessential mindfulness". The "I" or "me" in everything I write (even when I'm not writing) is always provisional. It's always shifting. It's not a narrative "I" but more like a series of visions.
Do you know the poem "I Am Not I" by Juan Ramon Jimenez?

I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent while I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
the one who will remain standing when I die.

The reason I swim in the ocean is that there, there is no I at all. But something is fully present, fully aware because it is dangerous and beautiful out there. Alert and alive, all the senses humming.

I love your vision of all the rivers opening their mouths to the sea! Yes! All the waters are so open-mouthed! It's what our mouths do, too, in the moment of wonder, or shock, or any powerful emotion. Our mouths open. I think the film you found, the breaking of the heart and the opening it makes for transformation is always there in the sea. A huge part of the wonder of the sea is the great grief it holds. It is charged with the deepest emotions.

What you love about the way the last two lines rhyme is why I like them that way, too! Only you put it so much better than I did! "finding themselves rhyming in spite of the possibility that they don't". Ha! Yes! As always, it is a joy for me to follow your heart-mind through a poem. It's a real privilege. Thank you, dear Jim!


I'm still watching this poem move. I really want to stress that I take every reaction to heart, and I'm truly grateful. I've posted a revision, and it may not be the final one. I just can't feel a way to change anything else yet. Still in the heat of it! The whelm of it!

Thanks to everyone!

Cally

[Mary Meriam]

I have a friend who swims in the lakes around here, and she loves hearing about where you swim. I showed her your poem, and she loves it immensely, as do I. I love picturing the queen of the Amazons swimming with such strength and sensitivity in a vast sea, and how the meter and rhymes are steady and exact, like a body swimming.

This revision is a let-down for me:
heading for the ice sheet, old, severe and loved.
gliding on time, believing he is loved.
It seems rhythmically fussy, and I miss the three syllable "believing." Don't we all wish we could be "gliding on time"? Don't all creatures believe they're loved? Belief takes on a new meaning applied to a wild creature, just as other elements of the poem—time, mind, air, waves—have also been transformed into something wild and "everywhere."

This is so great:
They'll be here soon, the horses, once they've bolted
to ride the element of everywhere.
The horses! Here they come! The mind is altered
by angels breaking reins in whelms of air,

I do like this revision, because I prefer the in/wind sound more than the by/bent sound:
re-created in the wind-bent waves.
re-created by the wind-bent waves.

The last line—I have met the horses face to face—has a million literary echoes for me, which you could probably list faster than I could. Yet it's all you.