Showing posts with label Fisher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fisher. Show all posts
Friday, June 1, 2018
Erikson's Fisher: "Clothes Remain"
Steven Erikson’s Poetry in the Malazan Book of the Fallen Series:
A Sample
One of the pleasures—and there are many—in reading Erikson’s Malazan books is the poetry that Erikson uses as headnotes to many of the sections and chapters. The poems are presented as composed by characters (not Erikson himself, per se), and most of these characters are off-stage personae, not seen in the action of the various novels, but because the poets’ work appears over and over, the conscientious reader gains a sense of each poet’s character, each psychology and style, at least for the major contributors.
Here’s a favorite example from a favorite poet—Fisher—from the ninth book in this ten book series, Dust of Dreams (headnote to Chapter Nine).
Down past the wind-groomed grasses
In the sultry curl of the stream
There was a pool set aside
In calm interlude away from the rushes
Where not even the reeds waver
Nature takes no time to harbour our needs
For depthless contemplation
Every shelter is a shallow thing
The sly sand grips hard no manner
Of anchor or even footfall
Past the bend the currents run thin
In wet chuckle where a faded tunic
Drapes the shoulders of a broken branch
These are the dangers I might see
Leaning forward if the effort did not prove
So taxing but that ragged collar
Covers no pale breast with tapping pulse
This shirt wears the river in birth foam
And languid streaming tatters
Soon I gave up the difficult rest
And floated down in search of boots
Filled with pebbles as every man needs
Somewhere to stand.
--Clothes Remain
Fisher
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Crossley-Holland: "Faithful As A Wordfisher"
BEACHCOMBER
Faithful as a wordfisher,
there he goes, old magpie of the foreshore!
Face chafed and chapped like driftwood.
Parcelled shapeless against
winds straight off the icecap
but look! agile even so, jumpy as a tick,
quick in his pickings.
Scoofs along the tideline scurf,
his oily sack full of consonants:
hunks of wax,
and seacoal, rubber ballast, cork,
sodden gleamings.
And swinging in that shoe-bag hitched
to his broad belt?
Ah! In there, sunlight and amber moonlight,
emerald and zinc and shell-pink,
Aegir's vowels.
--Kevin Crossley-Holland
from the sequence "Waterslain"
from his Selected Poems,
London: Enitharmon Press, 2001
Note: I can't say that I follow all the lines above, but the general situation and the definite fun with language and scene I follow quite well.
And, "Faithful as a wordfisher": that's a description I like, using "as" both as a comparison and as a signifier of action/behavior. Starting Monday I wordfish with whole crowds of new students.
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