An Omen in the Clouds
The Empress of Ireland Sails Past
Cap à l'Orignal
grim
cliffs grimace to starboard
escalating danger in a lessening light
what greater shadow lurks
within dusk's penumbra?
above it
all angels and that bird
the legendary begetter of fire
her wings a higher blaze
shimmering in evening's glow
trickster dancing
this tightrope wake
way above the waves
what stunt will she pull
what new trick will she play?
what sorrow will
she sing
dancing across her taut evening
chords in the roof of this circus
tent we call the sky?
early spring
migrations
lacquered wings stretching unearthly
feathers of paint on frail eggshell clouds
lurching at the mercy of the elements
so far from home
Floating on the Great St. Lawrence River
L'Île du Bic
1
"Footsteps!" she said
"Someone has left footsteps!"
each island
a terrestrial iceberg
imperturbable embrace of evening
each drifted patch of glacier stone
a giant land mark
elapsing from yore to yawn
wind and rain carved stones
built them into buildings
stark high rise fortresses
battlements
distillation of mist and cloud
windows in the cumulo-nimbus
blue like eyes
breaking their azure gaze
here and there
les murailles
pic champlain
la citadelle
bearing silent witness
2
this unexpected
wall
attenuated with cotton
dew drizzling a shawl
around bare shoulders
piercing like a patternbuilding
till a sudden squall
stoops
its black
hand descending
caressing the heart with fear
plucking teardrops of rain
from the cloud's swift frown
3
waves the
colour of steel
lapping against this thin
metallic
skin
the great
heart thudding
seeming to murmur
white waves left behind
the Empress of Ireland
flowing through the night
now growing
growling around them
shafts
of diluted moonlight
svelte shrouds gathering
each meticulous tuck in a hem of rain
The Empress
of Ireland is Struck by a Norwegian Collier
Somewhere between Pointe au Père
and Ste. Luce-sur-Mer
1
this Goliath
smitten by the tiniest of coals
a collier bearing anthracite
cheapest of sling shots
felling this sea giant
now handcuffed to the waves
its body
bent in two
its life fires
quenching themselves
failing crests of questing steam
faded light's
impulsive beat
gnawed to the quick
thinning
rust
bolts of corrosion
blood streaking
midnight's clouds
white holystoned
decks
bright mirrors of polished brass
soon to submit to an eternal cleansing
black chance
of inky waters
pouring through a puncture
this bullet through the shell-shocked hull
cavernous like leviathan's gaping jaw
The
Empress of Ireland Lists
Somewhere off Ste. Luce-sur-mer
1
thrown
dice
separate pieces
wending winding ways
up staircases
through unlit corridors
over slippery sloping floors
slopping with an unwelcome ocean
rising to baptize them
here to capsize them
reborn on this river
muddy and wide
doors no
longer open
water like a gambler's stake
rising higher and higher
what other
world beckoning
douses the lights in sleepy eyes
2
now the
waves are on fire
the lambent river
a bonfire of flame
the fire
storm casts shadows
desperate parents holding out
anxious hands
flapping white seagulls
moths at the mouths of wailing children
3
who plucked
my three ripe brothers
apples from the apple tree of life?
a gravelly
hoot
rolls its deep voice
gravely
across heaving waters
it loses itself
on grainy granite
someone swims
somewhere
onwards and onwards
towards an ever
more distant horizon
4
treading
water
hands and fingers
clasping at air
grasp only water
pull through the water
hands and
fingers
clutching at liquids
a land thirst
never to be quenched
clutching at hope
that thinnest of straws
Passengers
and Crew Take to the Boats
Somewhere off Ste. Luce-sur-mer
1
high above
the waves
the light house light
turns round and round
a knife spun
on the plate of hope
and superstition
its golden finger points
at people
dunking them like apples
plucking them to safety
faith hope
and charity
swimming round and round
their frail threads cut
ascending
to splendour
great bubbles of air
rainbow speckled
as slippery to hold as soap
stark bell
the ship's knell
keel hauling them down
2
unseen faces
unknown victims
survivors
swimming slowly
through this son et lumière
searching the nightmare
longing for safety
terra firma
hard dry ground
fire and
the firm tide
flaming on this lurid flood
Final
Voyage
Somewhat at Sea
Somewhere Off Ste. Luce-sur-mer
Standing
by the ship's rail,
the hooter loud and sudden
a giant bittern booming bitter
across dark looming waters:
"Here, child!" I say, "Take this!
I'll find another over there."
I see trust
in the sleepy eyes as I help
her into the life-jacket and hold
her hands as she climbs the rail and starts
the heavy descent to the heaving boat below.
Have I left
something in my cabin?
My notebook, perhaps? A roll of film?
The urge to check is much too strong.
I turn from the ship's tilted side
and climb the deck to that darkened space
where all I've ever really owned
passes swiftly before my eyes.
I search
through my scribbled notes:
"Though I have written every day,
I am not much of a writer, nor will I ever
be able to be one now. Yet still
I live in hopes to see that one bright flash
that picks out the great in spirit,
illuminating them across the centuries."
The mystery
of words crawls spider thin:
a web of crow's feet cross the face of time's
white and
wintry page.
A Survivor
Speaks Years Later
Migratory Bird Observation Station
St. Fabien-sur-Mer
1
what did
the raven haired angel see
from his observation post
on this lonely elevated tree?
down below
St. Fabien-sur-mer
basks in spring sunshine
migratory
birds pass by like ships
étrangers
in the ennui of daylight
passing quickly through
rising on angel wings
falling through sleek
bubbles of failing air
2
"Look!"
she said, "a turkey vulture!"
fire spreading red across his wings
trees below
us are garlanded with mist
as innocent as a child's sweet gaze
this early sun that peeps through the branches
I remember I remember the house
...
3
...where I was borne on water
the little porthole where the sun joined
hands with the midnight waves
but never never peeped in at dawn
my mother rocking my brother's cradle
where out
there do they play now
those fingers that soothed
my fevered brow
nightmare
of the last man
scratching at his bubble of air
the steady
scrape of clawed fingers
scrabbling at bulkhead and door
the captain tied to his post
glamour of the sea host clamoring
pale faces
of rich passengers
barking at the eye of portholes
aux aboies
impecunious ghosts
held penniless in windowless holds
no need for
a rowboat now and who
will place the death coin on their eyes
A Dream
of the Forest
Anse à Mouille-Cul
1
highlights
thin bright needle points
tugging at memory's thread
the flesh
that enfolds
this all too feeble mind
vermilion
and amber
flames of bright spring flowers
resplendent voices
decked in dazzling names
how can I
forget how hell
embraces the breaking of bones
the wet rip of flesh
sundered from loving flesh?
2
midnight's
daisy
flared its brief canary candle
gasping for northern air
too south by far in the channel
that bright midnight sun
last week
in Rimouski
I caught my mother
praying on her knees in church
my father
beating his breast
crying in a corner
they were
both dead at the time
drowned long ago at sea
I lit a lachrymose
candle
in honour of the hour
of whose utmost need?
Lighting
a Candle Before the Main Altar
Sanctuaire Sainte-Anne
1
I am still
afraid of fire
in principio erat verbum
I am
still afraid of the loud
voice of the match
scratching its sudden flare
enlarging
the whites of my eyes
et lux in tenebris lucet
booming
and blooming
igniting the soul's dark night
voice of fire
et Deus erat verbum
unsubtle
shout in fear's supple ear
flourishing to nourishment
flames whispering on the flood
omnia per ipsum facta sunt
2
wool and
water
this safety blanket
cold fragile
plush of the pliant teddy bear
staring eyes of the suppliant china doll
et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt
the lashes
of all their eyes
bound together with salt water
doused in a fine silken mist
hic venit in testimonium
still
the patterns pierce my sleep
hauling me from opaque dreams
holding my wrists
in this sailor's double clasp
non erat ille lux
3
oh curse
these dumb waters rising
"Not
a hair on your head
shall be harmed!" He said
as he hauled my sister up by her hair
only to find
her staring eyes
belonging to the already dead
et mundus eum non cognovit
the night
waters rising
the moon raising
its pale thin lantern glow
et vidimus gloriam ejus
deo
gratias
Graveyard
on the Point
Ste. Luce-sur-mer
1
the man on
the cross roads
wreathed in his personal storm
... et
discerne causam meam
de gente non sancta...
sea bells
pealing their warnings
grief on the grève
sa griffe
ma griffe
2
ma gritte
mi
grito
que no es un grito
cette
vie
qui n'est pas une vie
this
littoral bay
which isn't a literal bay
3
... ab
homine iniquo
et doloso erue me ...
over
bird frosted rocks
a ring billed gull
cries out whose name
on its early journey
to greet pale stars?
mouette
göeland muet
on the
beach
at the cross's foot
a grey robed pilgrim
... et
introibo ad altare Dei:
ad Deum,
qui laetificat juventutem meam ...
the silent
sea gull
shoots white arrows
over sea wet sand
4
who stands
solemn
waiting to be blessed
before this graven stone?
... sicut
erat in principio,
et nunc, et semper ...
the sea
gull sighs for its siblings
tossed from the nest and lost
in the long low swirl of the sea
Standing
before the Great Stone Crucifix
Ste. Luce-sur-mer
1
have they
gone on before us
those feet that lay pierced
those bones we numbered?
those minds
we guided
those mouths we fed
why they have left us stranded
on this strangest of shores?
2
unknown
these lands around us
emitte lucem tuam
unexplored
these mountains that surround us
ipsa me deduxerunt
unsolved
these mysteries that confound us
in montem sanctum tuum
in
nomine Patris
3
I will wander
from grave to grave
quare me repulisti?
coarse
grass weaving bindweed
columbines combining
quare tristis incedo?
verdant
stems unsophisticated flowers
stark between gravestones
et in tabernacula tua
4
and this
churchyard
as steady as a headland
quare tristis es,
anima mea?
its golden
chalice
distant from the far flung
malice of the sea
quare conturbas me?
Pilgrim
at the Shrine of Ste Anne
Pointe-au-Père
1
clad in blue,
the celestial queen
standing lonely as a sea star
stella maris
a graven
image
on her granite altar
flotsam and jetsam
writhe beneath her foot
in the stone oblivion
of the sea's rejection
my fault
my most grievous fault
salt tears
turning like the tide
hard rock of the suffering breast
beaten black and blue
what penance
can fill the void
left beneath the stars
by these long lost children?
2
into hedgerow
and field
wild geese have wandered
ill mannered
pilgrims
they take their fill
manna strewn before them
but nothing
is filled by this voice
this void that filters from unseen stars
Night
Fall
Sanctuaire Sainte-Anne
Pointe-au-Père
1
is there
no sanctuary
between this hard place
and the sea rocked chamber
that awaits?
sea weed
binds the feet
hands are helpless
unable now to set anyone free
2
grey seals
these concrete shadows
stealing up the beach
if they turn
their backs on the sea
will they turn into
our long lost children?
the sulky
cry
of their silken grief
wraps round our hearts
chokes in our throats
3
a thin lace
veils this day dream
a vision
lost
then found again
floating in what doting
mist
this veil of tears
Some
Survivors Come Ashore
Galérie Marcel Gagnon
Ste. Flavie
1
what cruel
god
unshelled them here
their stone expressions marooned
beneath a concrete sky?
fresh from
the sea
their press gang faces
fixed on this firmament
they tread
watery beds
cockles and muscles
alive alive
eaux
night's
wheelbarrow
bearing dead brethren
piled abreast
on this breastwork of waves
2
up this rock
strewn path they climb
thankful for terrestrial pitfalls
each ill
placed step a stumble
each stumble a precipice
deep knots
in the pine wood
rough beneath the hand
thrust splinters
through the too soft skin
night falls
like water
darkness
drawn from the dusky sea
depths of some enigmatic well
3
sullen beneath
moody clouds
sharp shafts of sudden radiance
rain horizontal
spears of piercing light
roots on
this barred
barren ground
temptations to trip them
4
watcher or
watched
what bard lies concealed
his god given words
silent
amidst reed and stone?
what prospect
of sea and sky
looms behind this falling barometer?
tap tap of
fortune's blind finger
white against stubborn glass
5
the veiled
sun
hides and bides his time
waiting for what winged
sea change
break in the weather?
quick as
this mercury
spreading like quicksilver
temperature and the tide dropping
midnight's darkness
swiftly upon them
Morning
in the Havre du Bic
Parc National du Bic
1
daylight
steps dripping from the sea's rising
light's fresh waves breaking again and again
rocky inlets filling with shorebirds
migrant geese
eyeing a distant horizon
white shirts flapping on a line
these oies blanches flying
lit by the
running of this low spring sun
who tells us when to stand and when to run?
2
though the
tide now rises the ebb will soon drain us away
stripping us down to pure clay we will be earthenware bowls
sea polished bones will shine like the sun
wave after wave lonely in the sea's slow honing
mud flattens
itself on slipway and beach
our hollow bodies stripped of flesh
break surreptitiously down
3
sea weed
wet sand live things drying dying
this unforgiving father the rising sun
staring into our eyes meaningless merciless
a lone bird
walks on stilts across this desert of mud
a semaphore of silver a live fish flapping
predatory heron feasting on the shadows
bread cast on waters and this miracle of fish
those who
have gone before us cast no shadows
sharp stones beneath their feet
cold waters lapping at their hands
On
the Beach behind the Auberge
Ste. Luce-sur-mer
1
so douce
this dulce this dunce's cap
binding our brains
in the dark
of midnight
we covet each sparkling grain of sand
thrown upwards blinding
as we look to the stars
2
night's darkest
hour
nothing remains
no thing
no - res
only
le néant
and its giant hand
re
- [main] - s
3
how softly
the descending dew
night's cobalt dressing gown
fitful down a winding stair of light
fugitive
night hiding daylight
deep in deepening clouds
The
Empress of Ireland Lies Down to Sleep
150 Feet Below the Surface off Ste. Luce
1
ears fill
with a metallic scream
iron's voice burdening lost children
something blighted now has left this tortured world
moving in
ever tightening circles
hope choking on this rock in the throat
seeking for something long ago lost
three men
riding biblical camels
follow a star to the depths of the sea
who can now survive three days in the belly?
this rusting metal whale entombing so many
water and
flowing blood go with the ebb and the flow
and the go with the flowing hair of sea weed spread on waves
go gently with the flow
2
all nightmares
end
or are there just new beginnings
the old movies playing
their black and white magic again
and again to empty seats in sordid cinemas
where old ghosts gather to watch worn out clips
in which they starred when they were young and beautiful
blessed are
the poor in memory for they shall have sleep
the hand
that sacks the cradle reaps what virtues in night's cold wind?
who is left
to sit at our tables to hold our hands when night returns?
are we so
seduced by the beauty of the young
that we dive to deep depths to find it?
cool pools
of water close over our heads
the ship's bare hull sinks deeper into mud silt and sand
playthings of the waves we rock in our resting places
Day
Trippers on the Beach
Ste. Luce-sur-Mer
1
everywhere
the beach
dry wood
dead wood
sea washed
trees
gathered
root and branch
for the ritual
august burnings
2
how clean
now
this earthen vessel
purged
ground down by flames
abandoned
its calcined bones
3
what strange
desires
plucked out their tongues
strung
unsaid words
like harp
strings
like a cormorant's wings
on the salt sea fence of this wind 4
sandstone
sparkles
diamond chains
sun's crazy
clockwork
across the lazy
face of the lie of the land
5
pale eye
of the night
flayed by
the splendour
of these northern lights
great wounds opening
how many
crept here in silence
to sing sad songs
to hang san
benitos
a garland of immaculate vows
pristine on the circling stars?
6
an ossuary
this morning beach
a golden
board
bordered with bone dust
paved with the chalk
of skeleton and skull
our footsteps
follow
a secret sacred way
between wave washed
tombs
7
water's tongue
licking like a big wet dog
salt drying on hand and foot
what bars
and barriers
will be revealed
when our own flesh
peels away?
8
sightless
these ears that cannot see
deaf
these eyes that cannot hear
in stead
of our tongues
a black herald
dressed in fine feathers
croaks out a list of names
this moribund
crow
nailed to a barren tree
counting with ink
from a battered quill
the crumpled blades of grass
tumbled beneath the scythe
watching
each sparrow
as it tumbles
into oblivion
Dream
of the Empress of Ireland
1
what cold
light dies under water?
the slow
smile on the dream's face
illuminates an uncommon blend
grit and sand
seaweed
slow hair before the eyes
the cold tides sucking at ankle and heel
2
celluloid
fictions
black and white film
mouths open
in a silent scream
what became
of the photographers
of the men and women who stood their ground
clicking their cameras as the ship went down?
news
the air breaks apart
delirious dots
absurd distraction of dashes
3
silent on
the coast
the lighthouse light
goes round and round
4
what price the pearl in the oyster?
the nightmare saran wrapped
in its wholesome bedtime sock
salt water to the mouth
wet rock and sand to the lips
that held the bedtime cigarette
5
books and dolls
and boys and girls and
men and women
spilled untidy
across the beach
wild waves rocking
the cradled headland
silence after the storm
all can now be consigned to oblivion
forgotten
this land falls into our hands
a pocket full of posies
we all fall down to be gathered in sleep
Sermon
for the Empress of Ireland
1
"Sometimes,
in the evening, a golden angel
gilds the waters and walks towards us over the waves.
I have seen him consecrate rock puddles,
converting them to instant glory with a touch of his feathers.
Sometimes,
a silver angel walks by his side.
Water turns to fish scale brightness,
shimmering and shivering like burnished
armour in the light of his burning countenance.
When ships
go down, the sea turns orange, red, and yellow.
The silver angel strains fresh blood from the sunset
and scatters it with water from his secret chalice.
He turns
his back on the world, holds his hands high,
and purifies the air until silver light spins a halo
round our suffering and we place our cares on his plate of sorrows."
2
"Last
night, all the colours of a rainbow:
feux d'artifices rising up from the water.
Diamond pebbles, they skipped the waves
and tipped them with exultation.
Jubilation
in the children who were lost.
A new light shone through them and their spirits
walked towards us out of the sunset.
He will take
their broken bodies
and heal them, like so many disarticulated dolls
brought to his hospital.
Bruises will
disappear. Crushed spirits will be made whole.
Bones will knit back together, bound for all eternity
by the strictest of strings, thin shafts of sunlight
woven by celestial fingers to bring us this eternal grace."
3
"Light
dances blue and green steps,
now high, now low,
on the northern horizon.
Pools of standing
water
recall the freshness of spring,
the resplendence of new flowers
sprung to the mystery of light.
Silver and
gold, the angels
walk a pathway of light
from earth to heaven.
They lead
our children by the hands.
Pied pipers, they have gone on ahead.
We know with
the absolute
certainty of revelation
that when we in turn arrive,
we will find them there, waiting."
4
"My
body will bring bread of nourishment.
My waters will spread sunset's wine,
bright red, upon this surging tide.
Many mouths shall come here to feed.
In my death
will life be brought to millions.
People whom I will never know will know me;
they will carry me deep within them
and I will build memories in their secret places.
Have no fear,
for have I not said I will always
be near you. And the night dark, stark,
spreading like a fear of absence on the grey brown bread
of this abandoned stretch of mud and sand."
A Lost Soul
Fled Far from the Empress of Ireland
1
For many
days I wandered lost across mud flats and sand.
The turning tide was an alarm clock waking me to the bodily
needs of self and sun and substance.
Sustenance:
food and water stretched before me.
Who broke this stick like a baguette of bread
across the back of night and brought me to daylight?
2
When I climbed
on dry land,
the earth was a tablecloth spread beneath me.
Wild herbs and fresh rain fulfilled my bodily needs.
I lived a
new existence on this distant horizon.
Faith was within my grasp.
I lived from the hand of charity.
But I was
alone on this barren headland.
I lost all hope when I saw the bodies of my children.
3
Blood thicker
than water, thicker than cocoa,
thicker even than this chocolate river of mud!
Who will
walk with me, at low tide, on this water?
Who will tread this liquid firmament in search of peace?
A sharp arrow
flights its way to the exact time of tide.
The daylight will shine for a short while yet.
How long,
dear friend, how long?
4
Here's a
toast to my lost friend
drowned within sight of the shore,
to my storm-rocked friend
weary on his cannibal raft,
to my star crossed friend
tossed sky high
in what unknown agony of cloud?
Here's to
the plaintiff
cry of the despondent child
dashed from incinerated lips
with vinegar's sharp shot.
5
Oh water
and blood!
Eau red rocks dying
again and again
in these crimson sunsets.
Daylight:
variegated striations
strata across the sky.
Each bird:
a letter of the alphabet;
each morse code dot and dash:
a meaningless gesture
tied to the blue kite of our lives.
6
Where now
the merganser?
Where now the eider duck,
chugging in his carefree crêche
across the dark tide of the night?
Where now
is the sun's bright
match that will set this holy book
alight with the celestial flame of love?
7
feral gravel
bent
beneath animal bodies
spring splash
of energy
and the new host
too young to know
the virtue of that long
slow wait for summer's sun
8
the sun's
hand
clenched in a cerulean fist
blue is the world
the sea
the sky
the earth
dressed drably
in a shabby robe
mist on the headland
brief dance
of light
enhanced clouds
little children lost at sea
Suite
Ste. Luce
Ste.
Luce-sur-mer
1
Black backed
gulls,
nature's alarm clocks,
waking the seaside
with their glaucous rattle.
High tide?
Low tide?
We have drifted on our life raft
far from the grasping hands
of the city clocks.
Gulls dine
on the beach.
Day's rhythm all at sea.
2
6 am? 7 am?
8 am?
What do they mean?
The planet's
slow revolution?
This sun arc sketched in its stretch of sky?
Salt spray
combing seaside fingers
through a young girl's hair.
A man in
a red boat,
fishing.
3
Bare toes
grip
damp wrinkled sand.
Worms have
written
runes in their arcane
wriggling script.
What do they tell us,
these secret messages?
Sunburnt
now,
the bare beach itches
like tanned leather,
like salt on a fish skin
nailed drying to a frame.
4
The salt
air knits the freshness
of its needles through my chest.
Slowed heartbeat,
dormant strand.
The tide's
blood flowing,
in and out,
inflating, deflating
the beach's sandy lung.
5
Early morning
mist:
a shadow
heron
clacks its beak
at a ring of mobbing
gulls.
6
When the
mist clears,
heron draws
his neck into a bow
and fires
the arrow of his beak
into a fish.
The gulls
run wild,
clawing up the sky
on a ladder of sound.
7
Seagull:
a coat-hanger,
hanging from
a blue sky-rail,
white wings
braced
against the flow of air.
8
Herring gulls
hovering,
round the old man's head;
a halo
of clacking red-ringed beaks
livid against the sky.
Brazen voiced,
mewling for their daily bread.
9
Black
cormorants pinning
their wings to dry
on the wind's
rough cross-beams.
10
The dead
crab,
alive an eye blink ago:
body exit
left
(with the black backed gull)
legs exeunt right
(with herring gull attendants).
Crowd scene:
a chorus
of crows-in-waiting.
11
The beach
compacts
smaller and smaller.
The tide
jostles
sand pipers
into a dwindling world:
this shrinking
pocket
handkerchief
of sand.
12
Happy the
kite's face
with its child
dangling far below.
Kite bounces
up and down
on a tight-rope of air.
Below it,
the child
walking the beach,
nose to the wind,
obedience on a leash.
The kite
in the blue above
wagging
its long, bright tail.
13
When the
mist thickens,
it closes a window in the sky.
The church
on the headland
steps plainly into sight,
then out again.
The old man
wraps himself
in a cloak of rain.
Suddenly,
the sun
drapes itself,
like a golden sou'wester,
over his head.
14
Summer lies
abandoned
under rain-soaked umbrellas.
Red bucket,
bright blue spade.
Childhood,
cast like a pair of sandals
on this cold, damp sand.