Inverted Interrobang

Inverted Interrobang
Location
Venezuela
Birthday
December 14
Bio
video / poesía / bilingüe

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Salon.com
DECEMBER 26, 2010 2:36PM

Fisherman's Blues

Rate: 13 Flag

 

rocinante w.gentieu 

 

Rocinante in your tomb of sunlight  

in your tomb of broken glass

clear and insolent

now that no one bothers

to kiss or caress you

hours and years have passed by

all the fish having escaped

through the wide interstices

of your old weathered planking

 

Rocinante in your tomb

of somnolent sunlight

sea-nymph of passages

forgotten in midnight's wake

have they abandoned you

with an old sheet for a flag

and your hushed past

on white sandy beaches?

with the mist that dampened the vestige

of your loyal phantom spouse

and the essence of rum Pampero

with which they often baptized you

your wooden joints no longer contest

not for all of life's adventure gone wrong

nor the glassy bottle-green waves

that break upon the shore.

 

Rocinante in your tomb

of dazzling sunlight

you were never Pharaoh

of ancient highest Egypt

lost, the divine beard

of your attractive living image

without eyes nor a snake's tongue

your sacred cowl proclaims

but what does remain

of your wooden Sphinx figure

still keeps watch

over the island of Gran Roque

and a collar of flies adorns

the stubborn yarn of your defunct tenacity

while a delicate feather awaits

to measure the worth of your negative confession

perhaps that's what touches me most

the image of your life as in a photo negative

the trousseau of your existence harshly evident

strewn out upon the sandy ground.

 

Rocinante in your tomb

of setting sunlight

with your crew and catch of pure fantasy

your fallen heart and broken machinery

carry me now on your rickety deck

with its odor of diesel fuel and baited hooks

permit me to stick my hand through your bandaged wounds

to continue exploring in your interior

often violated, profane space

atmosphere impregnated with salt and bitter oxide

iron motor from which now neither white nor black smoke springs forth

impious chamber of wood embalmed with fish blood and faded fish scales

a slow space trespassed

by an eternity of desperate lives

boarding on their next ethereal passages. 

 

Rocinante, I say farewell to thee

there with the axis of your keel pointing east and westward

your bow oriented towards the next rising sun

without sail and beached ashore forever. 

 

Rocinante image/text©w.gentieu 2005-2010

 

Fisherman's Blues~Waterboys: Youtube upload courtesy thewaterboyschannel


Follows; the original comment thread, trashed when OS management accidentally deleted several member blogs.

 

Rated, with all my paws and my tail!! And two ants walked in and rated it too!! :)
Stunning! Freedom, submission, majesty y realidad. Yo ho ho, I've brought dark rum...surely there is a lime rolling about, still intact y jugoso...
When I read your poetry I never consider it modern poetry.
It is nothing but beautiful and ancient words.. That is a talent.
rated with hugs
i am there, witnessing death once again

the light images, those light images!
And who is the Don of this broken horse? No longer tilting, just entombed.
This was excellent. I've read it three times, twice with the music, which is also excellent. You can't rate this high enough!
Great poem, it resonates with beautiful imagery of a bygone era.
Great song too. I love the waterboys.
A haunting portrait rendered in a blaze of strokes; i am shaken

best regards,
O interrobang ! Every wish just came true - I saw the title even before I got here, I'm thinking ( where's that Waterboys CD ) then I arrive on a beach Rocinante - yes, vanessa, the light ! - the evocation.

This poor guy in Australia is still putting himself back together ...
this is magnificent.

Thank you. Bless you.
What a wonderful evocation of the lives that this Rocinante carried. And simply opening each verse with "Rocinante" gives this such clear form.
Brilliantly done.. my favorite among yours..
Hello Everyone: first, it's (to me) a curiosity that my comments always remain fixed after a certain number is reached, no matter how long I leave the last post on top. So far I've never closed comments (?).

Please, feel free to comment (and to rate) even if you visit late or/and especially even if the post is not on top~just saying...


Tink: and I felt it!!!! Thanks

catch-22: Great rum ron in Venezuela, Pampero (Select) (pineapple shaped bottle) is my favorite. But straight, in a cognac snifter. Cacique (dark) is also good.

With lime I prefer to make 'ti punch' as they do in Martinique (crushed wedges of lime, sugar, crushed ice, rum in a rocks glass) but with a little Angostura bitters Trinidad style. This poem includes a lot of elements biographical within its text.

My first encounter with the "Rocinante" was more than a decade ago when 'she' was still alfloat at anchor off the fisherman's island of Carenero in the archipelago of Los Roques. There, where "Rocinante was constructed on the beach, I spent a sleepless night in the rancho (sand floor, tin roof, haphazard weathered wood walls, hammocks chinchorros ) of the proprietors. Short, round, leathery skinned, timeless oldtimers, drinking rum, smoking fat cigars. I could barely keep up with the dialect they spoke but after awhile it didn't matter as the rum put me on another plane, in another dimension. Some hours on, somewhere in some realm of time a little boy discreetly pointed into a trash bin in a dark corner where I glimpsed at least seven or eight empty (large) rum bottles. They were all still quite lucid~I was but hanging onto ephemera, just...

Linda: There in Carenero (see above) I first met a good friend, fisherman Julien "el Guayamate de Carenero" who is a poet himself and very talented in the art of what in english we call "extempo" music, which is a form of poetic improvisation in which two poet/singers square off against each other and have an improvised discussion in verse, sung and accompanied usually by cuatro (small four stringed guitar shaped instrument) and perhaps some percussion, a kind of upright bass guitar etc. My point is, the language these fishermen use in their composition, though interspersed with colorful "colloquialisms" and dialect, is often very formal, classical, in contrast to their everyday speech. In my text here, though definitely not an extempo, I wanted to reflect this modality. This text I translated to English from the original Spanish in which I wrote it.
Vanessa: the light is inescapable in Los Roques... NB-Also longing for the real discussions/conversations here in the writers realm.

Thank you for visiting and commenting.

Oryoki Bowl: I believe this is the first you have commented here. I should welcome you~Welcome~I think the answer to your question is above, though "Rocinante" now is patrimonio nacional 'she' really belongs to all spirits past and present, including now all of you.

scanner: Your comments and visits are important to me. Thrice is...

A. Walrond: Just to all of you keen readers... I'm spilling the beans now (so as not to be accused of pumping my own blog), the writer of this comment is my "dearest" other and an excellent writer in her own right... ~Please go and visit her!

ume: Very honored by your presence and your words. I was indeed also "shaken" by your text The Sea is The Mind.

Kim: Ditto the above your presence also. I posted this after a long nap. I needed the rest because I had spent the previous night, some three hours or so, reading the comments thread at the truck stop, start to finish~variously in melancholy, in laughter, in tears, in awe, in contentment... I will visit soon and I have another waterboys favorite, for the jbox... but keeping it to myself for now.... Thank you.

Divorce Bard: I am happy to see that you have returned. I fear I may have been a bit sharp (without any intention to be) in a response I left you once, way back. Anyway, I value your presence and commentary as I would any other serious working poet or writer. Welcome back, please, the door is open~

rita: Ditto ditto~ditto ditto ditto. then "Rocinante" is in good hands...
Oh, Sr. Interrobang! I brought Flor de Caña, 21 años ...and I would love to try your island style trago~Los Roques y un cuatro, que gusto. I will be back to read more, pero te quise invitar antes que mas...a tu salud y a nuestra Rocinante~
¡catch-22: Salut~chin-chin!
Interesting. But why don't you ever write about your country, your life? What is happening to you in your world? We're given these little bits and pieces, shards, but this is an overfamiliar method. What is going on? Poetry is about clarity, but yours seems to seek to obscure. So talented, but disappointing.
Rated.
¿Cómo sería, leer la versión original?
love the pic.... and your poetic eulogy...
Welcome Alice. Thank you and please come back. What music do you play... What do you play when you play music?
Oh! Have only just found this ... wonder ... thanks to Kim and his reference on Arabella. I am too many places all at once to make sense yet. I need to be here quite a while. I want to be here ... quite a while.
Thanks to Kim for pointing me here and thanks to you for ... all of this where I seem to need to be ...
Hey, anna1liese ~ great to see you here !
hello anna1liese: in a week or so, con suerte , I'll be returning to visit Rocinante, and give her my blessing, as I have for over a decade now, even before she landed on the beach forevermore.

You may have noticed, higher up in this comments thread, that I mentioned the "truckstop" and my reaction to spending the night reading there...

so it is fortuitous, that here you have wandered onto this bit of shoreline now...

with the compass coordinates so graciously provided by Maestro Kim :)

*****************************************

Thank You Kim! Very kind of you. Waterboys... everytime I listen to this song my soul goes ~~~~~zoom!
Why am I thinking Dulcinea and tilting windmills ... and smiling as I do ...
Why am I floating ... not far away ... not wanting to leave ... and feeling tears ...

I did see your words about hours at the truckstop and ... they made me glad ... so many hours I have spent there ... this past year ... a resting place ... a healing place ... a place of love ... for me ...

Waterboys ... only recently have I met them ... there ... where ... Kim gave me the sea ... the sea ... and a beach ... and a soul ... place ... to be ...

Something safe ... for me ... about a boat ... at rest ...
The sea is such a part of me ... all of me ... and yet ...
I read your words of Rocinante ... and I ...

even now as I start to read once more ... tears ...
sometimes I wish I had Kim’s life ... his ability to feel and give and love, I mean ... his knowing of so many things ... of what you know and feel here ... about your Rocinante ... as she lived ... and gave her all ...
about your Rocinante ... now ... at rest ...
... white sandy beaches ...
... hushed past ...
... still keeps watch ...

perhaps that's what touches me most
the image of your life as in a photo negative
the trousseau of your existence harshly evident
strewn out upon the sandy ground.
You write with such a knowing ... and from Kim’s response to your words ... I know he knows the knowing too ...

Why tears ... as I float along ... beside your Rocinante ...

I almost know ... and tears come ...
as they came not so many days ago when I wrote about the sea ... to Kim ...
Is she trying to speak to me ... and do I hear ... or do I not ...
even here ... is it why I float and know I must return ...

I’ve never manned a boat ...
I’ve never sailed a ship ...
Perhaps it is why I read ... to help me dream a dream ...
perhaps tears come to ... help me feel ... and ... help me know ...
perhaps what you and Kim have always known ...
about the sea ... and ships ... and taking charge ... of life ...
of noticing ... and describing ... and ...
of not being afraid ... to live ... life ...
tears ... why tears ...
why not joy ...
joy of feeling ... and knowing ... and breathing ... and living ...
joy of being ... alive ...
at least once ... upon ... a time ...

perhaps it is the blues I feel ...
perhaps tears fall for them ...
I wish I were ...
perhaps tears here fall for past tense ...
not all is past ...
not all ...
hope ... for joy ...

a week or so ... and you will be ... with your Rocinante ...
somehow I will think of you ... of both of you ... all three of you ...
as I have found you here ...


such an exquisite bit of shoreline here ...

water ... all of life ... their music brings it back ... and makes it real ...

shoreline ... water ... energy ... life ...

I will visit here often ... where I hear my name ...

Dulcinea ... tilting windmills ...
windmills by the sea ...
symphony ... of life ...

Thank you, both of you, all three of you ...
lovely to know you’re here ...
anna1liese,
I think Will returns to Rocinante
with ideas to see her float again ... I know I would.
I know you would too ... both of you ...
to see her float and be on board ...
I would love to see ... both of you ...
on board and ... bringing her back to life ...
joy tears then ...
I keep coming back ...
just to read and ... just to be ...
I remember once walking through a village
a shipbuilding village ...
an English village ...
where so much love was ...
daily given ... to the working ...
of the sea bound wood ...
as though I am seeing ...
the birth ... of Roscinante ...
perhaps that is what makes me ...
feel ... tears ...

As much as I love the sea ...
part of the sea ... frightens ... me
but as I read and as I listen ...
for the very first time I know ...
that were I ever lucky enough ...
to be in a ship sailed by one of you ...
both of you ...
I would feel no fear ...
it is, I think, the love I hear ...
as both of you ... speak of this ...
I read a few more times and share with a Fisherman named Keith. Sherry is his wife. Howdy.
'Keith' is a Halifax beer.
Sherry sips red wines.
She drinks Rhubarb.
It's Rhubarb Wine.
`
Keith tell fish tales.
He catch fish by tails.
He gives fish to me.
He's lobstering now.
I am tempted to rant.
`
To be brief: a Gift.
`
lily:
out of water . . . .
out of self
`
Nicholas Virgilio
`
It points to the inner nature of everyday things. It's mercurial. Yet it Teaches. Roots.
`
We live in a mobile world.
We generally do not root.
We move on after we ruin.
`
Most ancestors gardened.
People put up winter stock.
Root cellars had can stocks.
`
Standing Bear wrote ref America.
He was Native, local, a wise Elder.
A root of a tree that never grown`
`
Mankind will crumble and rot.
One must be born and reborn.
Belong?
Flashback.
We be okay?
We hope so.
`
We are inner-connected here.
We can not demean/impugn?

no.
If we do we are more deluded.
Bodies must be woven by dust.
It's the inner-Spirit that's Life.
yes
`
You'd be fun to drink water with.
It be our 'Lady Luck' if entangled.
Ay hope Morning Glory in bucket.
`
I did walk up to the greenhouse.
It's yummy to chew on Rosemary.
Radishes case mild burping sound.
Try?
burp.
burp
a b c
back
ward
O, go
kooky
greats
Thanks

Baby Radish greens taste sweet.
We plant a red-white breakfast.
It's a mild burping morn radish.
Keith tells about a Fear-Fish-Trip.
Wind was against them at 3 knots.
A six hour trip took fifteen hours.
`
Keith rebuild Harley's etc., Sherry?
She sweep crumbs off your lap. huh.
Sherry said sweeping is her therapy.

Sherry keep a tidy kitchen. She cooks.
She works part-time in a fish harbor.
They catch lobster tails and tell tales.

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Stunning! Freedom, submission, majesty y realidad. Yo ho ho, I've brought dark rum...surely there is a lime rolling about, still intact y jugoso...
Brilliantly done.. my favorite among yours..
Hello Everyone: first, it's (to me) a curiosity that my comments always remain fixed after a certain number is reached, no matter how long I leave the last post on top. So far I've never closed comments (?).

Please, feel free to comment (and to rate) even if you visit late or/and especially even if the post is not on top~just saying...


Tink: and I felt it!!!! Thanks

catch-22: Great rum ron in Venezuela, Pampero (Select) (pineapple shaped bottle) is my favorite. But straight, in a cognac snifter. Cacique (dark) is also good.

With lime I prefer to make 'ti punch' as they do in Martinique (crushed wedges of lime, sugar, crushed ice, rum in a rocks glass) but with a little Angostura bitters Trinidad style. This poem includes a lot of elements biographical within its text.

My first encounter with the "Rocinante" was more than a decade ago when 'she' was still alfloat at anchor off the fisherman's island of Carenero in the archipelago of Los Roques. There, where "Rocinante was constructed on the beach, I spent a sleepless night in the rancho (sand floor, tin roof, haphazard weathered wood walls, hammocks chinchorros ) of the proprietors. Short, round, leathery skinned, timeless oldtimers, drinking rum, smoking fat cigars. I could barely keep up with the dialect they spoke but after awhile it didn't matter as the rum put me on another plane, in another dimension. Some hours on, somewhere in some realm of time a little boy discreetly pointed into a trash bin in a dark corner where I glimpsed at least seven or eight empty (large) rum bottles. They were all still quite lucid~I was but hanging onto ephemera, just...

Linda: There in Carenero (see above) I first met a good friend, fisherman Julien "el Guayamate de Carenero" who is a poet himself and very talented in the art of what in english we call "extempo" music, which is a form of poetic improvisation in which two poet/singers square off against each other and have an improvised discussion in verse, sung and accompanied usually by cuatro (small four stringed guitar shaped instrument) and perhaps some percussion, a kind of upright bass guitar etc. My point is, the language these fishermen use in their composition, though interspersed with colorful "colloquialisms" and dialect, is often very formal, classical, in contrast to their everyday speech. In my text here, though definitely not an extempo, I wanted to reflect this modality. This text I translated to English from the original Spanish in which I wrote it.
Vanessa: the light is inescapable in Los Roques... NB-Also longing for the real discussions/conversations here in the writers realm.

Thank you for visiting and commenting.

Oryoki Bowl: I believe this is the first you have commented here. I should welcome you~Welcome~I think the answer to your question is above, though "Rocinante" now is patrimonio nacional 'she' really belongs to all spirits past and present, including now all of you.

scanner: Your comments and visits are important to me. Thrice is...

A. Walrond: Just to all of you keen readers... I'm spilling the beans now (so as not to be accused of pumping my own blog), the writer of this comment is my "dearest" other and an excellent writer in her own right... ~Please go and visit her!

ume: Very honored by your presence and your words. I was indeed also "shaken" by your text The Sea is The Mind.

Kim: Ditto the above your presence also. I posted this after a long nap. I needed the rest because I had spent the previous night, some three hours or so, reading the comments thread at the truck stop, start to finish~variously in melancholy, in laughter, in tears, in awe, in contentment... I will visit soon and I have another waterboys favorite, for the jbox... but keeping it to myself for now.... Thank you.

Divorce Bard: I am happy to see that you have returned. I fear I may have been a bit sharp (without any intention to be) in a response I left you once, way back. Anyway, I value your presence and commentary as I would any other serious working poet or writer. Welcome back, please, the door is open~

rita: Ditto ditto~ditto ditto ditto. then "Rocinante" is in good hands...
Oh, Sr. Interrobang! I brought Flor de Caña, 21 años ...and I would love to try your island style trago~Los Roques y un cuatro, que gusto. I will be back to read more, pero te quise invitar antes que mas...a tu salud y a nuestra Rocinante~
¡catch-22: Salut~chin-chin!
¿Cómo sería, leer la versión original?
Welcome Alice. Thank you and please come back. What music do you play... What do you play when you play music?
hello anna1liese: in a week or so, con suerte , I'll be returning to visit Rocinante, and give her my blessing, as I have for over a decade now, even before she landed on the beach forevermore.

You may have noticed, higher up in this comments thread, that I mentioned the "truckstop" and my reaction to spending the night reading there...

so it is fortuitous, that here you have wandered onto this bit of shoreline now...

with the compass coordinates so graciously provided by Maestro Kim :)

*****************************************

Thank You Kim! Very kind of you. Waterboys... everytime I listen to this song my soul goes ~~~~~zoom!
For those interested, I just restored the old comment thread that was lost when OS management accidentally deleted several member blogs, including mine. Some beautiful comments there for which I'm very grateful.
Ahhh Arthur... here's to catching those lobster tails and telling the tales! Saludos wherever you are...

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