We could slaughter every whale
dig every inch of the bottom
coat the undersides of boats
only to fail
The sea claims dominance, as with all
That defied it at every turn
lie in the sandy bottom
hidden in its bowels
If you ever dive in, you will see
its rejection too is always complete
Who has seen it for all it is
bearer and destroyer
gentleness and wrath
We could write poetry
as if it has some need for such paltry pleasantries
To be amidst the storms
churning and spilling my guts
Making me wish for an endless end
Casting me then to utter calm
I hate this lack of control, yet I relish it
I have loved hating the sea
It is a bigger me
It draws, rejects, then binds me
Just like the tidal cycle of romance
I would not forsake a shred of this for a mortal
I have known contention and callousness
It is me; I am it
It pays heed
only to refute all I speak
Yet I know it is all I have and I refuse to move away.
Sure.
Stanza 1 – The futility of human defiance Rust takes over from paint / We could slaughter every whale... only to fail
Man throws everything at the sea. Kills whales for their oil, digs the ocean floor, protects his boats. Does everything technically possible. And still fails. The sea doesn't even fight back particularly hard. It just… persists. And outlasts.
Stanza 2 – The sea's record of dominance The sea claims dominance, as with all / Man, bird and all life...
Everything that ever defied the sea is now inside it. Not defeated dramatically, just absorbed. Lying quietly in the sandy bottom. The sea doesn't celebrate. It just keeps everything it has ever claimed. Its rejection is total and permanent.
Stanza 3 – Human inadequacy before it Who then am I, or you, to appreciate it...
A step back. Who are we to even think we understand this thing. Nobody has seen it fully – not its capacity for destruction, not its capacity for nurturing. Both exist. We can write poetry about it… but that's all we can do. And the sea has absolutely no need for that. Paltry pleasantries. The word "paltry" stings deliberately.
Stanza 4 – The desire to be destroyed and then held I long to see its grimace / To be amidst the storms...
This is where the "I" arrives properly. Not wanting to observe the sea safely. Wanting to be inside the storm. Gut-churned. Wishing for an endless end – not quite death, more like obliteration of the self. And then… calm. Seagull mornings. The speaker wants both. The destruction and the tenderness after. Knows they come together.
Stanza 5 – The confession I hate this lack of control, yet I relish it
One line, standing alone almost. The whole psychological knot of the poem in a single breath. Control is what humans kill whales for, coat boats for. And here is someone who hates not having it… and loves it. Specifically loves what the sea does, which is take it away completely.
Stanza 6 – Refusing ordinary love You bring me love, but I have no such need...
Someone is offering love. A person, presumably. And the speaker turns away. Not cruelly, just… honestly. What a person offers cannot compete with this. The tidal cycle of the sea – drawing, rejecting, binding – is the only romance that makes sense here. The speaker would not trade a shred of this difficult love for something mortal and manageable.
Stanza 7 – Identity and belonging I have all I need here, dejection and acceptance...
The final settling. Not happiness exactly. Dejection and acceptance together, without contradiction. The sea is the speaker scaled up – same contradictions, same patterns, same push and pull. It listens, then refutes. It pays heed only to argue back. And still… this is home. The speaker knows it, names it plainly, and refuses to leave.
The whole poem is essentially about recognising yourself in something vast and indifferent and choosing it anyway over everything softer and safer.
No comments:
Post a Comment