Base Camp in Muddy Bottom

Kathy Riordan

Location: Florida, United States
Birthday: April 27

Bio: One woman's view of life and the universe. Follow @katriord on Twitter.

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What I Can't Write About: Floating; The Strong One; The Best News Yet; In My Mother's Arms; To a Younger Sister; Do Not Disturb; Taking the Red-Eye; Breath of Life; Tears; do not resuscitate; Vigil; What I Can't Write About
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JANUARY 23, 2010 2:41PM

Rate: 19 Flag

basecamp2

to the lost calusa

base camp in muddy bottom

It was land before it was dirt

Peered up from above on a perch

That view, not spare, swollen

Without what. Who knew? It was

Beyond the thing that could be sworn.

Ibis crossing and turtle

Up, and grassy greener lurch

Not forgotten. Horn and biscuit

Torn from that view, not spare.

Swollen.

*After thousands of years living in mounds and along rivers on the Gulf of Mexico in Southwest Florida, the Calusa, or "Shell Indians," disappeared completely in the late eighteenth century, after the march of European conquest.

Author tags:

poetry, that which is seen, view from a perch, base camp, where we sit, caloosahatchee, calusa indians, florida waterfowl, sanibel, seashells, everglades, florida wildlife

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Comments

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Wow. Very cool, Kathy. I love that first line.

wakingupslowly

January 23, 2010 03:05 PM

You describe this with such beautiful simplicity. r

Joan H.

January 23, 2010 03:11 PM

Lovely. I like walking on the beach particularly the remote rural ones in NW Florida and thinking about 1) that it is the edge of my world/map and some other country is way out there and 2) regardless of time or station people have walked the same beach and felt the same way. I lived in Alligator Point for a long time. Not a real tourist destination and that was before they found out how polluted the water was ;0)

Dorinda D.

January 23, 2010 03:14 PM

Brian, horn is many things, the horns of traffic now passing by, the horns used for communication long past or transporting things, the horns of creatures, the horns of conquerers, the Big Horns, a world away. Biscuit is food, past and present, in most easily transportable form, as if to run, to tempt, to give, to take. Have a biscuit. Enjoy the view from this perch. Not to be confused with brisket or musket but reminded of both. It crumbles.

Kathy Riordan

January 23, 2010 03:29 PM

Kathy the rhythms here really reminds me of the latter Wallace Stevens poems! rat-ed.

wendyo

January 23, 2010 04:07 PM

Wonderful history lesson and gorgeous poem...xox

Robin Sneed

January 23, 2010 04:26 PM

So fascinating, Kathy. Something I am completely unfamiliar with and would love to know more. As a northern girl, this is a phenomenom that may not exist in my parts!? Do tell more if you care to! Love the poetry!

Cathy GF

January 23, 2010 05:38 PM

Beautiful, Kathy, I lived in Florida much of the 80s and its natural beauty is one of the best parts of being there. Your writing is lovely as always. R.
Bea

Bernadine Spitzsnogel

January 23, 2010 05:40 PM

It's just the view from my southern perch, Cathy, as ghosts of Calusa Indians pass. Our base camp. And theirs. I expect you have a similar view, different ghosts, different birds, perhaps.

Kathy Riordan

January 23, 2010 05:40 PM

This was neat. It such a wonder that a whole race of people could die, or disappear!

scanner

January 23, 2010 05:43 PM

Amazing, beautiful.

sophieh

January 23, 2010 07:16 PM

I am all intrigued by the Calusa now...thanks for a lovely poem and something new to explore.

Ann Nichols

January 23, 2010 09:25 PM

Haunting image. Perfect companion for your verse. (r)

Chicken Màâàn

January 23, 2010 09:48 PM

What Robin said. You pack so much depth and emotion into such simple yet stirring poetry... I had to just sit quietly and take it all in. Wow.

Sally Swift

January 24, 2010 02:10 PM

what an interesting piece of lore

Nikki Stern

January 24, 2010 02:30 PM

I like the chance you take with this, Kathy. It's abstract but still tangible, touchable. Even without reading the postscript, I had a haunting sense of the piece. I really liked:

"That view, not spare, swollen

Without what. Who knew? It was

Beyond the thing that could be sworn."

I like the concept of something that is beyond the thing that can't be sworn.