‘Shipwreck,’ a new poem by Michelle Chan Brown

shipwreckbrown.mp3

This new poem by Michelle Chan Brown came across my news feed this weekend. It’s a wonderful, memorable work and I wanted to share it. The poem, reproduced below, appeared on Linebreak.org on March 6, 2012 with the above audio reading by Stephaine Rogers.

Shipwreck

What we heard about thirst was true.

Everywhere, water. Everywhere, salt.

And we drank it. We learned to love

our crumpling bones. Each sunspot

on our skin deserved a christening.

Distance gifted the world a shimmer.

Time passed, perhaps. We grew wolfish.

Spears of birdcall. Unthinkable birds.

We searched for the isle of women.

We searched for our dead fathers.

We searched for the hardware store.

We were used to solitude. Some of us

had worked the mills, where skylights crack

and loaned us starts. We learned to relish

the ownership of hours. Our sheets

acceded to the torpor. If you must,

call it sickness — the sea colonized us.

Below muslin, our heartbeats thrilled,

lazy as laps. Breezes licked our faces flat.

If we wept, we wept soundless as sand.

What wave would betray our trust?

Shipwreck Poem: ‘The Mary Snow’

The best thing about this blog has been all the fantastic shipwreck “stuff” that readers like you pass along. It’s amazing how much is out there, from songs and images to prose and poetry. Just last week J. G. Burdette passed along this great shipwreck song and Maria McKinney, from the breathtaking Inishowen in Donegal, Ireland, passed along the poem below. We can’t find who penned these lines (if you know tell us!), but that doesn’t distract from this classic description of Malin Head, one of the Northern Hemisphere’s most renown ship traps in all its murderous glory. Get ready for rhyming couplets, treacherous pilots, false lights and hatchet-wielding wreckers. Enjoy–and please keep sending along all that great shipwreck stuff you stumble upon!

The Mary Snow

It was our ship the “Mary Snow” how proudly did she sail,
Across the western ocean before a pleasant gale.
From Virginia with tobacco and strong liquor loaded down,
Her course set sail from Malin Head to Londonderry Town.

They hoved her too off Malin Head her sails they dare not fill,
For they sorely need a pilot to the harbour of Moville.
The captain makes a signal his wishes for the show,
And soon a pilot comes aboard the gallant “Mary Snow”.

And in the midnight darkness I heard that pilot say,
“Fill your sails and steer your ship to Glenagivney Bay”.
For the pilot Barney D – how little did they know,
Would wreck the ship and sell the loot from the gallant “Mary Snow”.

Upon the shore a light is seen a ship it seems to be,
It rocks just like a ship would rock that sails upon the sea.
But on a lame horse on the coast that pilot well did know,
A light was placed for to deceive and wreck the “Mary Snow”.

Upon the rocks the ship is cast she’ll sail the seas no more,
The captain and his gallant crew in vain they reach the shore.
But it’s on the rocks they tried to climb for safety to the land,
The Long Glen men with hatchets cut the fingers from their hands.

There was a man named Leepore from the near Redcastle Strand,
Who was returning home again to view his nature land.
Ere little he thought that evening’s light had turned to morning glow,
He would be dead upon the rocks beside the “Mary Snow”.

Now all you born sea-faring men a warning take this day,
And never dare to sail your ship to Glenagivney Bay.
For the Long Glen men still lie in wait I’ll have you all to know,
With hatchets still they lie in wait as on the “Mary Snow”.

So when you come to Malin Head make neither stop nor stay.
But sail your ship to Quigley’s Point or Londonderry Quay.
For the Long Glen men still lie in wait I’ll have you all to know,
With hatchets still they lie in wait as on the “Mary Snow”

Shipwreck Poetry: ‘Theodosia Burr: The Wrecker’s Story’

This bit of late nineteenth-century poetry vividly captures prevailing views of the nefarious “wreckers” who inhabited the isolated coasts of the early republic (a wonderful example of imagination trumping reality). Here you’ll find those constants of wrecker literature: false lights, murder, plunder and innocence lost. For more images check out the digitized copy of the original 1895 publication in The Century Magazine here. I’ve transcribed the full text, including the short introduction, below. This tale might be oddly familiar–it anchored the recent (and thoroughly enjoyable) novel The Watery Part of the World by Michael Parker. Enjoy~

Theodosia Burr:

The Wrecker’s Story.

By the Author of “Stonewall Jackson’s Way.”

With Pictures by A. Hencke.

On December 30, 1812, Theodosia, the beautiful, accomplished, and devoted daughter of Aaron Burr, and wife of Governor Alston of South Carolina, stunned by the run of her father, and the death of her boy, took passage on the Patriot, a pilot-boat, to rejoin her father in New York. The vessel never came to port. It is known that a storm raged on the Carolina coast on New Year’s day, 1813, and the circumstantial evidence seems conclusive that the Patriot fell into the hands of “bankers.” There were wreckers and pirates who infested the long sand-bars that fence the coast outside of Currituck, Albermarle, and Pamlico sounds, and reach as far south as Cape Lookout.

It was their practice, on stormy nights, to decoy passing craft by means of a lantern swinging from the neck of an old nag, which they led up and down the beach. Thus, vessels were stranded on the banks off Kitty Hawk and Nag’s Head, and plundered, after the crews and passengers had been slain with hangers, or compelled to “walk the plank.” Long after the disappearance of the Patriot, two criminals executed at Norfolk, Virginia, confessed to having had a hand in the death of Theodosia Alston. There were, they said, members of a gang of “bankers,” who wrecked and pillaged the Patriot, forcing her people to wak the plank.

***

In revel and carousing

We gave the New Year housing,

With wreckage for our firing,

And rum to heart’s desiring,

Antigua and Jamaica,

Flagon and stoup and breaker.

*

Shipwreck Poem: DRIFT-WOOD

Here’s a wrecker-themed poem culled from archives. Published in Auburn, New York’s Cayuga Chief  on August 23, 1853, it has everything you could ask for in a shipwreck poem–fireside stories, Thor, ravens and Vikings, yes… Vikings!

New Poem: ‘On the Wreck of the Costa Concordia’

I am very happy to share this timely poem by acclaimed artist Alan O’Cain. Many thanks to Alan for passing this along. And I encourage everyone to check out his website and his newest project, The Screaming House, which promises to be fantastic. Enjoy!

On the Wreck of the Costa Concordia

I see a tower of burning lights

And close my eyes

Awaiting the taste of salt

I am a hundred tongues

And lick the ocean floor

(For comfort)

 *

Dreams end like this

Crash from the universe

And throb a few short

Gasps and topple

 *

I am a waiter inside myself

Hauling life on a tray

And weaving by the thronging

Masses in my shining shoes

That sink with every step

As all lets slide

 *

In my bow-tie I attend

My end – white socks like

The tops of waves, tray

Floats off.

 

Alan O’Cain January 2011 www.aoart.co.uk

[note: I added the *’s where line breaks were in the original because of wordpress formatting issues.]