The Fisher

[Jarndyce]

[As always, comments, criticism, ridicule greatly appreciated.]


I
Standing patiently in wading
boots bigger than me,
resisting the freezing current
that slides over white rocks
like cold schnapps over ice,
he cast the silvery line
at the rust-colored ruins on the opposite bank,
while I chased tadpoles in an eddy.

II
He often told stories
when he drank, like the time he fell
from the church ceiling,
and thought he could braid a rope
to catch himself before he hit.

III
When I was four he chopped
his foot with an axe. I
remember the bloody towel.

IV
I learned to fish in two
boyhood ways: dropping
a cinder-block anchor
into a freezing Iowa lake, getting
soaked with his laughter;
and setting a hook in his ear.

V
"There's nothing in this world
that you can do, that I haven't
done already."

VI
Mom told me that the bleachers
collapsed when I was still
in her belly. Said he caught her
as they fell, cushioned
her impact with his body.

[autolycus]

Hi... I have to say I love the images but don't particularly like the overly prosaic (literally, literarily so) style. Part I by itself would make an excellent poem, with its beautifully dynamic imagery (love the schnapps over ice part). Part II is almost as good, with its earthy sense and unearthly idea (braid a rope...)

The other thing I like is the structure I see: I, II, III parallel IV, V, VI - fishing, storytelling, accident.

I suspect the whole needs editing to make the structure more lyrical. I'm not sure it would benefit from collapsing into two sections (or four), but six seems a bit much.

Thanks for what you've shared. It all feels very personal, reminds me of my own childhood.