Month: February 2024

Notes on ‘Things We Say’

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Walter S was my grandfather. In his later years he repeated the same stories over and over. Probably a lot of grandfathers do that. I’m not quite there yet; but I sense it coming on. Sometimes I tell a story and think, “Maybe I told them that one already?”

So much gets said in our modern world. Much less of it really makes an impact of any kind.

I had a thought one day, that making a true connection with another human being was something like catching a trout on a dry fly in the river. Something you can try to do patiently all day, and yet still fail to do. And when it does happen, it feels a bit miraculous. That was the basic idea for this poem.

My grandfather was born in the 1800s; our ages never overlapped enough to fish together. But I always felt connected to him just due to his patience and kindness. And now with the old stories coming back to be repeated over and over.

Things We Say

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– for Walter S.

Things we say
flow ceaselessly
as the river flows
through the hollow gorge.

Standing in the river
without companions
one hears the river –
murmuring, wordless.

How we hope
the things we say
will deeply connect
with those we love.

Old timers repeat
their favorite lines,
the things they said
that truly connected,

that made all the difference.
Because after all,
there were so few times when
the line was just right

just perfectly laid out
for that one moment. No
most of the time
it should have worked,

it seemed just right but
something was wrong
The timing was off.
The color, unnatural.

Missed connections.
Stories not worth
repeating later.
They murmur, wordless.

Sometimes a flash
might rise to the surface-
There — look!
but then it recedes

unconvinced
for whatever reason.
Your line goes slack.
Your feet are cold.

Stand in the river.
Convince yourself.
The trout is there.
You must try again,

speak again.
Someday God-willing
you will be an old-timer
repeating your memories

of a very few lines,
your own deft lines when
you formed the connection,
you made some difference.

B. Taylor, 2016

Great Poems: “Song of the Master and Boatswain”

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This is a little poem by a big author, W.H. Auden. He wrote a lot of big poems. But I find Auden is at his best when he’s brief:

Song of the Master and Boatswain

by W. H. Auden

At Dirty Dick’s and Sloppy Joe’s
We drank our liquor straight,
Some went upstairs with Margery,
And some, alas, with Kate;
And two by two like cat and mouse
The homeless played at keeping house.

There Wealthy Meg, the Sailor’s Friend,
And Marion, cow-eyed,
Opened their arms to me but I
Refused to step inside;
I was not looking for a cage
In which to mope my old age.

The nightingales are sobbing in
The orchards of our mothers,
And hearts that we broke long ago
Have long been breaking others;
Tears are round, the sea is deep:
Roll them overboard and sleep.

*

The first two stanzas are accessible, almost to a fault. The author is remembering his time with friends as sailors. They’re meeting girls in port, they’re peeling off and trying to live a married life. They are, but “he” the author isn’t. It’s artfully worded but it’s practical. We get it.

In the third stanza suddenly we break away from the play-by-play of memories. Instead suddenly we are discussing some nightingales in a far-off garden. These birds and their songs are no longer a memory of who-did-what; but more an abstract idea. An idea that hearts have been broken; probably many in a web of heartbreaks. What to do now in the face of sad tears and memories? “Roll them overboard and sleep.” A great line…. simple and sad, like the poem itself.