The main character is dreaming again. Water is a relentless theme in this narrative, and so it is in this segment of Song 10.
Here is the fourth segment of Song 10:
Argose lies down beside me and I dream . . .
Diving deep and soundless, the sea’s weight
presses on me like a massive stone
Hand over hand I grasp the anchor line
down to the gray sea’s floor, the steel-linked rode
a forged weight sunk entirely in dim cold
At hull-crushing depth, I find the anchor
a three-fingered hand clutching, dragging mud
My ship’s keel, suspended pale, floats above
Her rigging stands still under crypt-quiet air
at anchor, tethered under folded sail
My descent continues beneath sea floor
I claw sea-sand as I dive down and down
waves of the seabed – each crest solid ground
No compass point to begin the true tack
sea-press on my chest
sea-weight on my back
waving long necks and slack mouths in the gloom
But as I swim closer, it becomes clear –
This is one body with three hideous heads
They all have long-haired strands trailing from beards
The blur of this sea-river’s shapes emerge
waving long necks and slack mouths in the gloom
But as I swim closer, it becomes clear –
This is one body with three hideous heads
They all have long-haired strands trailing from beards
From one mouth a forked tongue hisses toward me
“You are not safe
don’t think
to be
Safety
is not for the likes
of thee
You have chosen
a higher
path
that leads
deep into life that
does not last
Resolve
as we do to live
just so
below eyes
in solitude with your
kind
With that said, the gargantuan body
walks heavily off into the sea’s shade
three heads waving, chanting a glorious song
I stroke back to the grave- entrenched anchor
sit cross-legged beside it, considering
a three-headed message
that I will surface bringing to light
But what to do with this that seems right?
Deep in dark waters
anchored at sea
a singular journey -- a journey to me
Three thousand years of sailing for more
cradled in waves -- each crest a shore
With that, I fall to my side on Argose
who snuffles awake pulling himself
from under my weight that pins him to ground
As I push myself up, the smell of dragon
hangs near, pungent and true, from six nostrils
investigating this creature that’s me
I know I’ve been with them, no matter how strange
and for this encounter, I’m not the same
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dog friend and I get up to our feet
somewhat the better for the restless sleep
We follow our noses out to the street
where we trudge along in hopes we will meet
a kind one who stops and sees our odd plight
and who’s at least willing to help us find
a place to sit down and have a warm meal
but soon it is clear this is not to be
and on our own we’ll see what we see
I choose the first dark tavern I come to
It smells of smoke and grease and something else
I take a seat at a corner table
where I observe the rectangular bar
an ancient altar raised in the center
At the bar’s back left, two white-haired women
smoke hand-rolled cigarettes between fingers
One is sobbing and speaking angrily
while the other woman nods agreement
A big-bellied bartender leans sideways
against the bar’s inside edge, politely
listening to an intoxicated man.
On the wall, hangs a short list of hot meals
A thin young woman comes to my table
Dark hollows beneath her eyes stain her face
She asks me what meal I want – what to drink
The bartender clears out his throat loudly.
The woman turns and nods to him, then says,
“Please, my boss wants to see your money first.”
Her voice sounds tired and a little nervous.
“Sure,” I say, “but why?” I show my money.
“Do I look dishonest? Is it my dog?
I’ve never been mistrusted on first sight.
What about me makes him so suspicious?”
She looks over my head to the wet street.
“The dog is all right. No problem with it.
It’s a big town and drifters sometimes leave
and ‘forget’ to pay their bill and cheat us”
“Do I look like a drifter to you then?”
I say this lightly hinting at a smile
but looking directly into her eyes.
“Well, yes. You do.” she answers cautiously
Then she adds quickly, “but you’ve shown your coin
so now the owner will be satisfied.”
I shrug and tell her what I want. She nods once
hurries off obviously glad to go
What does she see in me that I do not?
It occurs to me I’ve not seen myself
except shadows and river-reflections
that stared back from the mirror’s rippling face.
Now I am more than a little curious.
I stand and walk slowly around the room.
I locate a mirror in an alcove
I stand sideways to it and turn my head
to stare at my own face – it’s much the same
but an odd, older stranger peers at me
No wonder the woman saw a drifter
My faded shirt wears tightly on my chest
My hair hangs long and uncombed. The cloth band
I used to keep hair off my face barely
restrains the nasty, tangled, sun-bleached mess.
My eyes focused, hot-white points set in black pools
like an unblinking reptile in dark waters
watching for lurking enemies and prey.
I decide I like this dangerous look
but I smooth back my hair, run my fingers
through it, and bind it as best I can
I return to my table, aware now
what my eyes say that before they did not
I feel young and strong and a little threatening
I know Hart would agree.
Background
This second city brings up more thoughts about strange places and lengthy travels, of being looked on as a suspicious stranger. Walking into new cities and situations does make one more adaptable, watchful, and wary – more aware in general. That’s the good news. Those who are less flexible and resilient find such new situations terrifying. Again, the background to this part of the narrative comes from my own traveling years. As a single woman, I had to especially wary and cautious. Every moment might bring danger, or at least surprise.
Interestingly, Hart’s name comes up at the end of this segment. Travels have a way of surfacing memories, especially about people once dear. Makes one wonder what the MC is considering about Hart – perhaps a lightness is emerging around Hart’s memory. I recall that when I was out and about during my corporate years, I often remembered my former husband with whom more than a little “friction” was present. Still, in those days of near solitude (clients don’t count; can’t get too close, says the “bosses”), remembrances of him grew warm and compassionate. Strange, the things travel can do.
In any case, the protagonist is now deep enough into the wanderings that they are becoming a way of living.
Exploration 1: What is the meaning of the dream that begins this segment? Specifically, why does the MC dream about water so much? Remember, with dreams there is no right answer, only personal interpretations.
Exploration 2: It would appear that the MC is in a ragged and unwashed state. How did that come about? What do you think of the profile of this character now that a transformation has occurred?
Exploration 3: Any chance you have figured out the time period this story takes place?
The MC gets in touch with his/her true self in dreams; gets reminders about the true path.
ReplyDeleteDrifters don’t care much about personal appearance. They have more pressing things to worry about.
This yarn has a 19th century Dickensian feel about it.