Visitation
When I heard he had entered
the harbor,
and circled the wharf for days,
I expected the worst: shallow water,
and circled the wharf for days,
I expected the worst: shallow water,
confusion, some accident to
bring
the young humpback to grief.
Don't they depend on a compass
the young humpback to grief.
Don't they depend on a compass
lodged in the salt-flooded
folds
of the brain, some delicate
musical mechanism to navigate
of the brain, some delicate
musical mechanism to navigate
their true course? How
many ways,
in our century's late iron hours,
might we have led him to disaster?
in our century's late iron hours,
might we have led him to disaster?
That, in those days, was
how
I'd come to see the world:
dark upon dark, any sense
I'd come to see the world:
dark upon dark, any sense
of spirit an embattled
flame
sparked against wind-driven rain
till pain snuffed it out. I thought,
sparked against wind-driven rain
till pain snuffed it out. I thought,
This is what
experience gives us ,
and I moved carefully through my life
while I waited. . . Enough,
and I moved carefully through my life
while I waited. . . Enough,
it wasn't that way at
all. The whale
—exuberant, proud maybe, playful,
like the early music of Beethoven—
—exuberant, proud maybe, playful,
like the early music of Beethoven—
cruised the footings for
smelts
clustered near the pylons
in mercury flocks. He
clustered near the pylons
in mercury flocks. He
(do I have the gender
right?)
would negotiate the rusty hulls
of the Portuguese fishing boats
would negotiate the rusty hulls
of the Portuguese fishing boats
— Holy Infant, Little Marie
—
with what could only be read
as pleasure, coming close
with what could only be read
as pleasure, coming close
then diving, trailing on the
surface
big spreading circles
until he'd breach, thrilling us
big spreading circles
until he'd breach, thrilling us
with the release of
pressured breath,
and the bulk of his sleek young head
— a wet black leather sofa
and the bulk of his sleek young head
— a wet black leather sofa
already barnacled with
ghostly lice —
and his elegant and unlikely mouth,
and the marvelous afterthought of the flukes,
and his elegant and unlikely mouth,
and the marvelous afterthought of the flukes,
and the way his broad
flippers
resembled a pair of clownish gloves
or puppet hands, looming greenish white
resembled a pair of clownish gloves
or puppet hands, looming greenish white
beneath the bay's clouded
sheen.
When he had consumed his pleasure
of the shimmering swarm, his pleasure, perhaps,
When he had consumed his pleasure
of the shimmering swarm, his pleasure, perhaps,
in his own admired
performance,
he swam out the harbor mouth,
into the Atlantic. And though grief
he swam out the harbor mouth,
into the Atlantic. And though grief
has seemed to me itself a
dim,
salt suspension in which I've moved,
blind thing, day by day,
salt suspension in which I've moved,
blind thing, day by day,
through the wreckage, barely
aware
of what I stumbled toward, even I
couldn't help but look
of what I stumbled toward, even I
couldn't help but look
at the way this immense
figure
graces the dark medium,
and shines so: heaviness
graces the dark medium,
and shines so: heaviness
which is no burden to
itself.
What did you think, that joy
was some slight thing?
What did you think, that joy
was some slight thing?
~ Mark Doty ~
(The Paris Review
#196)
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