After eight Songs and over 130 pages of Wannaskan Almanac posts, we have reached the end of “Movement One: Arriving,” a very long way from the “Dark Waters” of a birth coming into the light. After this post, we enter the “Second Movement: Becoming.” Although I’ve made little mention of the three movements that divide this epic poem and its Songs, the milestone points where the movements end and begin carry important information.
Consider “Dark Waters,” the first Song in the First Movement: “Arriving.” Our main character has come a long way, indeed. Perhaps, you would like to quickly review the journey we have made so far. If so, the entire poem to date is contained on a separate website here for ease of reading. Nothing but The One resides at this site, and the poem is set up in order, from beginning to the most current posts. One caveat: as you know, due to the length of each Song, we post each Song in segments; however, only after all segments of a Song have been posted on the Almanac, do we post the entire Song on the web site just noted.
That said, this third and final segment of Song 8 finds our protagonist (MC = main character) truly drifting, letting the river currents push where they will. So, please join in and get ready for this final segment of the final Song of the First Movement. After this, it’s all “Becoming.”
The clock of noon rouses me on the sand
I rub my eyes and shake my arms and legs
all parts complaining from the day before
my hunger most of all moans and rumbles
Giving up disdain for Hart’s provisions
I rummage in the storage box to feed
my weakened body and my ravaged mind
I sit on the stern bench rocking idly
I munch on carrots and stale rye-grain bread
Suddenly, a newer hunger rises
I realize I have seen no people
not least to say hello—a quick good day
Still, the taste of Hart and of that woman
endure on my wounded mind’s attention
Yet, I want to know how shore people
might spend days while my bow bobs on water
After eating, I decide to explore
To do this, I must secure my small ship
so, I push off again and row relaxed
heading out to the river channel’s heart
I am not hurried – nobody to meet
The current obliges flowing gently
I forego the walk along the shoreline
My body has hinged onto river rhythm
My heartbeats rest deeply in each moment
beating time with the dripping wooden oars
Soaring above, seagulls call for no reason
obvious to me – gliding with their kind
Again, my thoughts turn toward cities’ people
The harbor bells that I have heard ahead
grow louder as I row and I decide
to explore the next village or city
This creates a desire to walk firm ground
and I row faster toward the ringing bells
Soon, I arrive at a stunning harbor
Larger craft and small at piers and moorings
sailors on the bigger ships busily
attend to tasks I only imagine
but the lesser boats I do understand
Most of them possess sails all furled and quiet
Few of these vessels’ decks are occupied
I slide silent underneath a high dock
and secure Hart tightly to a piling
with enough line to swing out to a ladder
stretching plumb from the pier to the water
I tie a stern line to the stout stairway
open the box at the back of the boat
and take out the money that Hart and I
squirrelled away and have used only little
I stuff the paper deep in my pocket
climb up to the dock and walk away
My legs shake, my body wobbles walking
I’m surprised at how much the river rhythm
has possessed my center’s hub through and through
Land and sand feel foreign, unforgiving
of my feeble progress along the shore
I stop to let my swirling head settle
and look out on the great ships riding high
and grand with sails folded and tied neatly
I realize that my boat is a tiny craft
and that I am fortunate to come far
enough to see the river widen so
that the other shore is difficult to see
Suddenly, I feel a fool to ever
think the red boat is a ship – no not that
more like a raft, a platform with a sail
Certainly, those who’ve seen me shake their heads
and to themselves call me crazy, stupid
So, I am, neither wise nor a sailor
yet I’ve fancied myself a true captain
How deluded, a danger to myself
Maybe Hart was right to head back northward
perhaps my behavior was all he needed
an excuse to end the unwise journey
But no, this is a rationalization
for my careless, crude, horrid behavior
I have no one to blame but my own self
and in my heart, I ask true forgiveness
though I did not see my treason toward Hart
All this deep thinking has allowed me time
to gain my land legs to a loping gait
I feel in my pocket for the money
nestled there like some charmed, quiet treasure
which, indeed, it is, for unless I work
this is all there is between me and lost
strength, lost hope, and certain failure most dire
I ascend a staircase stretching from shore
to the city’s streets above so unknown
yet tantalizing to the part of me
that I find myself nodding to strangers
and even smiling which surprises me
after all my self-criticism
Now, these other people bring happiness
something I can’t remember when I’ve felt
So strange that I find myself chuckling
I buy fruit, bread, and candy from street vendors
store all in my pack slung from my shoulder
Then explore the shops and their merchandise
I inspect my clothing and find it wanting
No wonder people passing looked at me
with suspicious eyes and even malice
I find a clothes seller, buy new garments
and ask for my old wear to be thrown out
Back on the street, I decide it’s time to return to Hart.
I find that I do not know the way back
I retrace my path as best I can asking
now and then, directions to the harbor
On the way, a rainstorm pours down the streets
driving people indoors huddling close
I am so tired. I just want to get back
to Hart, slip under canvas sail and sleep.
Tears well up and spill down my sun-dried cheeks.
Street lamps shimmer on, casting long shadows
on pocked gray walls perspiring with the day’s
accumulated warming and hard rain.
Reaching the harbor, I take my bearings
and head for the pier where Hart is secured.
I make a great effort not to stumble
I walk directly with grave intention
but I spend the next hour hurrying down
all the dead-end pier fingers; I grow more
panicked as each row ends without Hart.
Finally, I think I have the right row
Yes, this is it, I’m sure, sighing in relief
Stepping carefully down the straight ladder
reaching for the stern line – find it missing
I search under, around, and far outward
Perhaps she’s come untied or I’ve come down
the wrong pier again, but I am sure not
What thief would want to steal this tiny boat?
Maybe I didn’t tie her well enough.
How could this happen!? How could I lose both
Hart and today the boat I gave his name!?
The most unlikely answer leaps to mind.
Hart has stolen the boat – I’m sure of it.
He followed me somehow to this moment
Hart spying on me hidden on the shore
to see what wickedness to catch me in.
The boat is in my sight every moment
since we were separated, but today
he had his only sly chance to steal it
“Oh sure! Blame Hart,” I say sarcastically
to myself, “when I’m the true careless one.”
I should have bought a lock – it’s all my fault
I slump down hard on the pier completely
dejected and hopeless. I sit rocking,
my knees against my chest gazing out on
the river waters, wishing I rode her
“At least I still have a little money,”
(“Enough to buy a coach seat back to town,”
suggests a frightened voice inside my head.)
“No!” I say out loud and spit. “No! Never!”
But what instead I have no idea.
(“You could go back and leave again later,”
whispers the younger, frightened voice inside me.)
“Shut up!” I hiss at this much younger self.
“I won’t go back!” I bury my face between my knees.
“Do you make a habit of talking to yourself?”
a deep voice questions from close behind me.
I nearly fall off the pier in panic
as I skitter around to see who’s there
Background
The main character has decided to explore the next town along the river, and so it comes to pass. The urge to go ashore appears to originate in both curiosity, and a need to be among others. This may be interpreted metaphorically as the individual and the larger community, with the lone person circling or passing by society. However, ramifications arise when the loner decides to come to shore. Will acceptance or rejection be the case? Is the loner really equipped to re-enter social interactions? Must one prepare for such re-entry, or is it possible to simply “dive in”?
To speak personally, this Song is an exploration of my own solitary journey for part of my life, and the transition to my communities of interest. At this point in my life, I dare to say that I am content in either case; however, considering where I live (with my husband, Joe, in Beltrami Island Forest), one might question my “urge” for a social life – and with good reason! So that’s the personal angle here.
Another more personal angle is what could be described as ‘remorse.’ the MC continues to engage in second-guessing, review mirror judgments, and self-blame. Sure, we all do this, some more than others. Regret and remorse, as I’ve said before, make for a harsh (and sometimes lonely) life. But stay tuned. Something major is about to happen in the next Song, number nine, “Darkness Rising,” the first of the Second Movement, “Becoming.”
Exploration 1: In your opinion, is the main character alone, lonely, or both, considering “my thoughts turn toward cities . . .?”
Exploration 2: Do you find any implication in the statement by the main character that the red boat is not a ship? Is this a turning point?
Exploration 3: Like #2 above, do you sense any significance in the MC deciding on “self-blame” for what has happened to Hart, his friend? The river woman?
Exploration 4: What has happened to the boat? Has it been taken? If so, by whom?
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