Timber, the best brought from distant woods
Nails and bolts wrought by many a smithy
Many a looms had sat spinning her canvas...
The tale of a ship and its quest for a home
image: www.travelwithachallenge.com
She had been made with love and care
Timber, the best brought from distant woods
Nails and bolts wrought by many a smithy
Many a looms had sat spinning her canvas
Along smooth lines and seamless curves was she built
Till there she stood tall and proud
were they to set upon her,
a delight to the eyes she was sure to be
And the sea wild, had spied her too
Besotted by her charms, had frothed in joy
Waves had it set gambolling upon her
higher than usual tides it sent her way
dancing in exalt on espying something so wondrous built
verily it landed at her door
And forthright asked of her to be its betrothed
She did recoil with a veritable shudder
Whatever gave you the idea
that we are meant for each other?
look at me, Im streamlined of the finest timber
my ancestry can be traced to the best in the forest
grounded, deeply rooted, the trees
my dress, the cotton from distant lands
its to the earth I belong to, for Im born on land
Have you ever felt your own saltiness,
or stopped to look at yourself?
Spread
all over, once here and thence there
Carried
by unknown currents
No one knows where next you abound
pray what do you think we have in common?
For, two different elements we are
neer the twain is meant to meet
go back please to where you belong
were I to troth you Id verily sink
somewhere over there you meet the sky
and from that edge Id fall off in demise!
The sea hurt, miffed and mystified
knowing not what more to say, deny or defy
withdrew its suite and tides,
returned to its depths
and all that was seen of it
was some gentle lap of distant waves
She, now calmed, heaved a sigh of relief
for having passed such a torment
a tumultuous storm of belief!
Whod eer heard such utter drivel?
So far fetched a proposal?
What could the undulation of fluid waves offer
to her stolidity, her solidity, her timber, her teak!
Now secure was she on her terra firma
yet her soul remained bestirred
there was still an eerie entice of the waves depth
carrying within some hidden decree
Thus eer so often shed slinked to the shore
to hear the song of the gentle wash of waves
in the water of the tides, dip her toes
she stayed on land yet the shore became her abode.
For now the metal on wheels didnt draw her desires
nor did the mansions seem like her keep
the breeze carried some strange dirge of rout
Nothing could she find in which to fit into
in her own realm she found herself
an alien in increasing degrees
Thus she continued to be parked at the edge of water
giving the excuse she wanted to feel the breeze
while she inhaled the saltiness off the air
she kept herself safe at the water and lands crease
ever entranced by the roll of the waves.
She did keep alive her dreams though
of her roost shed make in her very own realm
while the lap of water within her
a mysterious rhythm did keep
Until one day she felt suddenly the sea roil over
sent breakers crashing towards her
stormy waves struck her bosoms
and then queried off her in indignation
Pray whats this enactment?
Of letting go and not letting be?
caught in the swirl of waves she trembled
her timbers shaken, she had to visit the holds of her truths
I wont deny the call, the cry of my
heart
but am straddled by unknown quandary
torn between half commitments and half desires
of where I belong and where I should be
I dont wish to come to you
bestride such onerous horns of dilemma
I wont enter your dominion until Ive come to hate
The
realm, the land whichs now my home and Im free!
The sea did hear her out quietly, remained silent awhile
then asked Your realm you say?
Pray can you tell me where your land is?
she opened her mouth to speak, but gasped
looking down there was only waves all around
she turned back to spot her land and found it
a distant speck on the horizon
Unknown whence, immersed in the play of waves
her sails seeking breeze, had opened up and fluttered
who knows when entranced by a lapping rhythm
she had suddenly floated out of her familiar depths
and as was to be, she was finally adrift on destiny
The choice was now upon her as to whether
she were to sink or to set sail
or straddling the shore serve some muse's purpose
yet be neither of the land nor of the sea
- Avi
Something I had written a couple of years back. This looked at 'Let Go' from another perspective.
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written by Avi Das, 2008-05-24 09:31:09
I think to do justice to your query could either be an involved conversation between us or a separate post in itself. Will try and make an attempt at either or both in a more focused manner and hopefully soon.
For the author and the reader do define a strange relationship. I was merely claiming, that its inspiration which is the true author, but the process of creation is tinged by the participating colours, be it that of the author/scribe, the pen, the paper, the moment. So while you say all tools are available, even if 'Avi' was willing to join the party, sans 'inspiration', I don't think the party would be 'moving'. Thus, my contention is 'inspiration' is beyond the author, is universal and the true author. Wonder if I make sense?
And in so far as the reader goes, words, pictures, paint strokes, each are mystical mirrors which reflect some resonance to the reader and forms a relationship separate from the intention or intended expression of the author. I wonder if I'm still making sense?
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written by P. Desikan, 2008-05-24 09:11:19
You mdut be right. You must know, being an author.
I am just wondering what happens when a reader finds an inspiring thought and wishes to see it expressed the way he can enjoy it. Pen, pc, any other tool, you name it, it is available. Only Avi is not joining the party. The reader thinks he is left high and dry.
Regards. Partha.
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written by Avi Das, 2008-05-23 23:58:39
I thank the master skipper too. I'm but a watcher of waves.
Partha, I have always wondered who the author is? The writer? The Pen? The ink? The paper? Personally I have found my ease at accepting that inspiration is the only true author and rest all are participants of the process/scribes.
However the reader's prerogative to read and interpret in one's own terms remains paramount and beyond the intentions of the author. Again my belief.
Dwai, both the call to adventure as well as the refusal of call are inherent parts of the Hero monomyth (as per Joseph Campbell). As to whether the call is from within us or without remains moot, but call does come for all.
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written by narensomu, 2008-05-23 12:47:32
How well you have summed up the "Sea" we all are in!
I dont know what kind of coincidence made me read your poem first and as i decided to think over before commenting , a long awaited chance to visit a port nearby materialised.
I saw her, a 200 meters long beauty, all anchored and bonded[ the bandhans that she and her friends need till they go through the land experience] to the piers .
It made me think,the Sea is where she belongs and the sea is the reason she was made for.
A couple of tug boats nudged her gently to align her along the harbor and she was secured with ropes so that she wouldnt drift off dreamily in to the Sea...
She might die and her "body" might be sent to the scrap yard but her soull might be one with the salty air that plays above the Sea...the same salty air she did not want to breathe when she was land -bound.
Just another reader's perception.
I thank the master skipper for having arranged the poem first and the harbor trip next.
Regards
ns
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written by P. Desikan, 2008-05-23 11:52:08
Fear of the unknown and of change which leads to conservative love of status quo, hides behind the 'security' of inaction, but inaction can never be the intended destiny of souls, analogically matched with ships in your nice metaphor. The proper unknown call has to be recognized and action matched with it.
Like the ship, for which all calls of action originate from the sea, human souls can recognize and interact with their caller and transporter, their inner voice and move ahead on meaningful voyages.
And Avi, there is no fear of forgetting the sea or pretending that it does not exist. The author may exist in a thousnad manifestations in the minds of as many readers, but he exists.
Regards. Have loved this voyage, on sea and at every port. Partha.
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written by dwai, 2008-05-23 10:57:39
From the Ships point of view, does it heed an unknown call of uncertainty or stay with the security of the land? We say the destiny of ships is in the sea, but we are not the ships. Were the ships left to decide on their own, what would they choose? After all how many of us forsake security for an unknown call? If Ships were allowed to stay on land, despite the reason of their build, wouldn?t it be a matter of time and expectation to consider the land as ships destiny?
And if I had the liberty to take this further as a metaphor for life journey...wouldn?t the perceived destiny of the ego be different from that of the soul?
That unfathomable call of the unknown is our inner voice softly chiding us to seek that which really matters. Could the ship be happy on land instead of the sea? Perhaps...depends on what/where the ship finds happiness (or as Mita put it, Joy).
The important thing is to be open to this inner voice (which can be heard once the chatter in the head subsides)...to really hear it's advice. The inner voice is the direct connection to the unknown, unknowable infinity
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written by P. Desikan, 2008-05-23 10:24:09
Reality even in the seemingly material physical existence, consists of packages of uncertainty.
The destinies of the ego and the soul need not be the same. But like movements of electrons in atoms and molecules,these destinies can perhaps get hybridized and appear one and the same. The means, like the proverbial ladder can be discarded when the utility is over, but the means should matter even after the transit takes place. The sea matters, its destiny being loosely tied up with whatever passes over it from wherever to wherever.
Barthes is so brilliant intellectually that he may mind being taken seriously on an isolated subject like the existence or otherwise of the 'author'. Readers may cross over an author and pretend to forget him, but he exists, often in hybridized resonance with the readers.
Regards. Partha
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written by Avi Das, 2008-05-22 21:32:48
Barthes has already proclaimed the death of the author...so I guess perceptions and interpretation of the reader is sacrosanct and falls beyond the purview of the author.
But to perceive things from the point of destiny is definitely interesting...
What destiny is, is a matter of perspective, I feel. To the Sea the Ship seems destined for it. For the Ship it is a question of identity. It is born off the land...shouldn't it belong to the land and seek its destiny there? Why go off into the sea when its destination is again another port?
From the Ships point of view, does it heed an unknown call of uncertainty or stay with the security of the land? We say the destiny of ships is in the sea, but we are not the ships. Were the ships left to decide on their own, what would they choose? After all how many of us forsake security for an unknown call? If Ships were allowed to stay on land, despite the reason of their build, wouldn’t it be a matter of time and expectation to consider the land as ships destiny?
And if I had the liberty to take this further as a metaphor for life journey...wouldn’t the perceived destiny of the ego be different from that of the soul?
What would then be the call of the sea and what would be its security? Indeed what would be destiny?
Thank you for the comments.
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written by P. Desikan, 2008-05-22 11:12:27
Of course it is. Pretty dim on my part, not to have seen it, carried away as I was, more by the idea of the ship breaking free and letting go, into the wide expanse of the sea. On this perspective, everytime it touches shore again it would be reaching a destination.
Regards. Partha.
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written by P. Desikan, 2008-05-22 09:21:48
It should really be none of my business, but are you curious like me why Mita has given the title 'Destiny' to her appreciative comment about your poem?
Regards. Partha
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Thanks. You do make a lot of sense. For this inspiring idea too, I would welcome a separate post,from YOU!
Regards. Partha