No One Can Stem the Tide. Jane Tyson Clement
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ripples all day long –
thrush and vireo, and in the dark
the harsh cicada; and my soul must fail,
starve for the sudden, final thrust of sea
over the earth’s curve, for the steady sun
that now the hills devour when day is done.
7
OCEAN
The birds that fly
in a shifting pattern
over the sea
with their eyes turned downwards –
what do they find
in the shining water?
Here on the shoal
the small waves crumble
bright in the sun
as the gull’s swift pinion,
green and clear
in the depth of shadow.
Inland the osprey
bears its burden,
yield from the sea
out of these waters;
out of this field
a shining harvest.
8
SUMMER NIGHT STORM
The ranting of the gods, this tumbling sky,
this wind-strong rain which pelts against my cheek,
the world re-lit by lightning, and the lie
of tall sea grass low bent against the sand.
I stand here, strangely still, with all the world
tumultuous at my feet, and yet my heart
is stronger than the roaring wind that swirls
about my body, taut against its force;
that blows my eyelids shut, that locks my lips,
lest all my spirit end its restlessness
in one wild song.
9
BAY HEAD
This beach is the crumbled bone of many years;
who can construct again the skeleton
and join the scattered grains to their old form?
This sea is the blood and tears of all the ages;
who can define in it a single wound or grief –
so vast and mingled is the tide of pain?
Yet as the night floods darkness and the day
holds us in light, we walk earth’s changing shore,
a brief path through the winds of good and evil,
and of loneliness –
Therefore the sand and sea await us.
10
The inland is not safe from sea;
here where the meadows hold the day
and tongues are of the earth, the fields,
the sea-mind still is safe and free.
Perhaps it walks a little worn
between the elm and peakéd pine
or wakens restless to the sounds
of vigorous, healthy, country morn,
or finds the nights too long, too still,
lacking the rush and draw of wave,
or feels the eye cheated by the dark,
the sharp sky-crowding rise of hill.
But yet the wind of sea will run
the length of valleys and be here
sudden and full of space and wide
waters all leaping with the sun.
11
EBB TIDE
The tide will claim this shallow curve of sand
here where the thin waves curl and creep and die.
See – in this river no deeper than my hand
the young crab, pale and calico, slips by
into a safer, less tempestuous sea.
The eel, as silver and as quick as steel,
answers the sun; one moment he is free,
then the bird drops: a brief white circling wheel
cleaving the air, to splash, complete the arc;
the waters flicker, close, and leave no mark.
Take now this era, while the lengthening bars
stretch in the tawny shoals along the shore;
soon the sure rhythm of the moon and stars
will send the pliant waters in once more.
12
WINTER COAT
Gulls on the lonely beach
under the brooding sky;
over the darkened marsh
one gray gull’s cry.
Wrack strewn upon the strand,
shards from the summer sea;
ripples from rising tide
creeping to me.
Winter is on the air,
sand drifted like the snow;
all the cold sky above,
sorrow below.
Boarded and silent wait
window and shuttered door.
Oh, will the summer joy
waken no more?
Summer of all mankind,
harvest from field and sea –
shattered and blown away –
no more to be?
Oh, but the promise lies
safe in His waiting hand;
sunrise again shall light
shimmering sand!
13
AT THE SHORE
Out of the black pool of sleep
the broken images like scattered sunlight
merge into morning, and I wake.
Here where the sea beats unangered
the gray gulls waddle along in the gray misty morning
and rise on white wings over the white sea
transformed into grace in their own element.
Must we take lessons always from everything –
gulls fat and ridiculous dabbling their feet in the tide-pool,
gulls flying sublime with the sunlight silver upon them?
Better return to sleep and waken prosaic.
We were meant to both dabble and soar,
and even the loveliest wings get weary.
14
STALKING A GULL