Night Fishing

[pomespennyeach]

Where once was a lake
a river's demise
is now my father's ghost
a singular weight:
every stone I ever cast
upon these aching waves
refused and invisible.

His heart flashed
its filament shattered, light fled
down angry wires to a dawn
death fathered
in my heartfelt hollow mind.

Though his body be quelled
a quotient of his joy
crosses the impossible calm
echoing in fishermen's voices.
The hour of his hands
holds the lake still in its palm.

[Macavity]

Interesting PPE. Mysterious, elusive, but the tone and language of the piece does invite the reader to delve.

Where once was a lake................expanse/change
a river's demise..................diminishing presence
is now my father's ghost............a fading memory
a singular weight:.........................specific/individual
every stone I ever cast......................weight/solidity
upon these aching waves................senses of loss
refused and invisible...............rejection/intangible

His heart flashed
its filament shattered, light fled....................heart attack....
down angry wires to a dawn
death fathered
in my heartfelt hollow mind.................emptiness

Though his body be quelled.....................body/spirit
a quotient of his joy
crosses the impossible calm....................separation, bridging the silence
echoing in fishermen's voices.....................sound connections in others
The hour of his hands
holds the lake still in its palm......................time

I felt that the ending propositoned a positive connection, the poem a journey of loss to recollection in the 'night fishing'.

hope that helps some

mac

[NotQuiteSure]

Hi pom,
begins and ends well, but flounders in the middle, for me. The switch in metaphor (do filaments shatter?) away from 'fishing' weakens rather than strengthens, I think. Though a 'death fathered' is very nice. Might his 'line snap'? His heart, the fish that gets away?

What was a lake
is now my father's ghost
where the singular weight ......................... why 'weight'?
of every stone I ever cast ............. don't think you cast stones 'upon', just 'bread'
into these aching waves
refused and invisible. ................. don't know what this means, are stones somehow bait/meant to attract fish?

echoes in the voices.
of night fishers
The hour of his hands
holds the waters still
in its palm. .............................. again, why 'palm'? Struggling to make a fishing connection. Maybe cut it? Ending on still waters seems a better option.


Regards, Not

.

[pomespennyeach]

Mac, thanks for your sensitive reading and comments.

Not, questions questions! But I do appreciate the feedback. You're right, filaments don't shatter. I like the idea of reducing it somehow to that core, but still somehow keeping the lake.

This is a 40 year old poem, but this is the first time anyone has seen it but me. I spent many weekends with my father (and usually other family members) at Lake Travis, created by damming up the Pedernales River here in Central Texas. I hated fishing, but I loved the lake. This was meant to be more about my father's death though.

Night fishing is where you go out at night, hang a lantern over the side, which attracts bugs, which attracts fish. And voices carry over the water in a mysterious way. That may be a different poem.

[NotQuiteSure]

keeping the lake.

But change the title!
Are there no parallels to be drawn, in s2, between the damming of the river and the heart?
(You don't need 'hollow mind')

Night fishing ... may be a different poem.

Like to read it.

Regards, Not

.

[littlebirdsaved]

I like the atmosphere in this poem. I’m not really sure how I feel about the images though. They sound a bit too generic for me.