-Olek- Seascape with receding pelicans
Olek
January 18, 1998. The man who forgot himself while bird feeding
writes to the woman who once wondered if he was who he was,
the woman who, in a strange twist of irony, forgot where the pelicans
came from:
I sat at the edge of the outgoing tide, watching the last
laggard pelicans glide just a few feet off the wave crests,
some alone, some in pairs, their brown silhouettes barely visible
against the backdrop of a bank of dark clouds.
The sun had just begun to sink into the grasses atop the Padre Island
dunes, and I could feel the late afternoon heat slowly dissipate
from my bare back. With my eyes closed I imagined standing
on the dunes, looking down at myself from behind.
I saw a Daliesque figure of a man with long ribbons of scarlet
and orange dancing on his shoulders, and as the flames faded down
I saw myself merge with the darkening sky.
I remember being awaked from my sunset reverie by a wave which raced
past me across the tidal flat, where all the others have stopped shy
of my toes. After all, it was low tide. When the water had finally
receded, I noticed a bright blue jellyfish deposited squarely
between my outspread feet. It seemed to shiver in the warm
Gulf of Mexico wind, like a man who finds himslef stripped and left
to die on the dark side of the moon.
I reached with my hands as though to pick it up, but stopped short.
It's whole transparent corpus suddenly twitched in a single violent
spasm, like a heart pierced by a knife. I couldn't help but wonder
how a primitive creature, with no brain, no eyes, no skin,
could sense my presence.
It was time to return to Corpus Christi, to see the Fourth of July
fireworks, to sleep, perchance to dream. I got up to go.
Padre Island lay endless on either side, and I suddenly realized
I forgot if I had come from the left or the right. Perhaps it was
neither.
A flock of pelicans which had settled on the beach to spend the night
was the only thing I could see to give a purpose to my search.
I was no more than 50 yards from them when they all took to
the air and flew further down. But I kept walking, kept walking
toward them, even as they kept flying away from me, for I knew
I would not sleep this night, unless I slept with the pelicans,
even if that meant having to lose myself in the body of a man-of-war.
The man who forgot where he came from, remembers the song he sang
as he chased his pelican dream:
Tonight I will lie with the pelicans
blue
transparent
untouchable
raw.
I will sleep beyond
the reach of tides
cast onto the edge of sadness
like a man-of-war.
Tonight I will dream with the pelicans
on this long beach
long like the arms of my longing.
I will dream I know
which came first:
the sky, or the sea
you -- or loneliness.
Kim Hodges
On Sun, 18 Jan 1998, Olek wrote:
> January 18, 1998. The man who forgot himself while bird feeding
> writes to the woman who once wondered if he was who he was,
> a woman who, in a strange twist of irony, forgot where the pelicans
> came from:
Okey Dokey. I found them - the pelicans. Had to unzip some stuff.
Nice poem, again. :)
- Kim
<<
I sat at the edge of the outgoing tide, watching the last
laggard pelicans glide just a few feet off the wave crests,
some alone, some in pairs, their brown silhouettes barely visible
against the backdrop of a bank of dark clouds.
The sun had just begun to sink into the grasses atop the Padre Island
dunes, and I could feel the late afternoon heat slowly dissipate
from my bare back. With my eyes closed I imagined standing
on the dunes, looking down at myself from behind.
I saw a Daliesque figure of a man with long ribbons of scarlet
and orange dancing on his shoulders, and as the flames faded down
I saw myself merge with the darkening sky.
I remember being awaked from my sunset reverie by a wave which raced
past me across the tidal flat, where all the others have stopped shy
of my toes. After all, it was low tide. When the water had finally
receded, I noticed a bright blue jellyfish deposited squarely
between my outspread feet. It seemed to shiver in the warm
Gulf of Mexico wind, like a man who finds himslef stripped and left
to die on the dark side of the moon.
I reached with my hands as though to pick it up, but stopped short.
It's whole transparent corpus suddenly twitched in a single violent
spasm, like a heart pierced by a knife. I couldn't help but wonder
how a primitive creature, with no brain, no eyes, no skin,
could sense my presence.
It was time return to Corpus Christi, to see the Fourth of July
fireworks, to sleep, perchance to dream. I got up to go.
Padre Island lay endless on either side, and I suddenly realized
I forgot if I had come from the left or the right.
A flock of pelicans which had settled on the beach to spend the night
was the only thing I could see to give any purpose to my search.
I was no more than 50 yards from them when they all rose into
the air and flew further down. But I kept walking, kept walking
toward them, even as they kept flying away from me, for I knew
I would not sleep this night, unless I slept with the pelicans,
even if that meant having to lose myself again in the body of
B. Callaghan
Kim Hodges <sanr...@teleport.com> wrote in article
<Pine.GSO.3.96.980119...@user2.teleport.com>...
>
> On Sun, 18 Jan 1998, Olek wrote:
>
> > January 18, 1998. The man who forgot himself while bird feeding
> > writes to the woman who once wondered if he was who he was,
> > a woman who, in a strange twist of irony, forgot where the pelicans
> > came from:
>
> Okey Dokey. I found them - the pelicans. Had to unzip some stuff.
> Nice poem, again. :)
>
> - Kim
I love this one too. Funny how poems that aren't about especially sad
topics can strike you that way anyhow.
- b