Treading Water: Poem & Process
Death and seagulls
Poem & Process is an ongoing series. One poem, and reflections on writing it.
I tread water and consider
the ever-shifting constellation of seagulls
hovering above the burned-out pier.
Do they look down on us
bobbing around in the sea
and see a similar constellation?
I see a more muscular body than mine
clamber from the waves breaking on the shore
and hear an inner voice
speaking of what I am not:
big, powerful, desirable.
I don’t have time for that sort of thing.
I am 37
and could be halfway through my life
or more:
for all I know
I’ve already lived most of it.
Besides
I quite like my body:
lithe from running
strong from yoga
sveltely slipping through the sea
like an otter.
Splash!
As I surrender to how it moves me
the sea reminds me of death:
now, there’s real power
in how it could take me away at any moment
despite how much effort I may make
in trying to swim against it.
This poem followed me out of the sea one day. I wrote it on my phone, fingers dripping water all over the screen.
Inspiration for a poem can come from many places, but for me it often arrives from a place of noticing. That is, paying a special kind of attention to what is going on. Sometimes this can be directed intentionally, as in: ‘I want to write a poem. Let me fire up a blank document and think about a subject’. At others, it’s as if this quality of noticing forces its way into my consciousness, saying: ‘look at what’s going on here: this. This is a poem’.
I like the latter version of inspiration very much.
I noticed myself noticing my experience, and connections between what I was sensing in the outer world and what was flowing in my inner suddenly made a sort of sense. Suddenly everything is a poem. Seagulls; constellations. My body; another’s. The sea; death. Here it is: a poem.
At the time, it felt urgent to write - and so, important. I don’t know if it is a good poem. I read it at a gig recently, and it felt well-received. I like it, reading it back. It’s simple: a snapshot of my swim as I experienced it. It also brings up wider issues (body image, death, seagulls) in a way I hope is not pretentious or heavy.
Swimming alone as I was, I desired to share this experience with others. This poem allows me to do that. Can I share my swim, myself, with you please?