We listen in on the line, like CIA ops
on a covert mission abroad
Unintelligible language crackles in our ears
garbled voices like someone speaking under water
We’ve been cruising the oceans for years,
making use of borrowed equiptment:
our Navy-issue hydrophones record
domestic struggles between ocras, the humpbacks’
intra-pod disputes about migratory paths,
the elongated tones of two blue whales singing
to one another, their calls and responses echoing
amid the hum of the broad, dark sea beneath our bow
Lately a soloist has peaked our interest
a high, insistent call like no other before
a different sequence and range, unique—
we’ve analyzed the patterns, tried matching
the peaks and troughs of the sounds
to other known callers, we’ve tracked the movements
of this one-whale show, meandering across the Pacific
playing each night a different venue (but never a packed house)
Our reports conclude: older, male, traveling alone
sporting baleen and barnacles like yesterday’s stubble
his 52-hertz bleat is unlike any other we’ve encountered
wandering for miles, searching whole oceans for a matching voice
we read in his treble tones a plaintive call for companionship
Isn’t that what we each hope for?
And don’t we drift likewise,
searching open faces for a glimmer
of soul-deep recognition?
Don’t we each crave a unique listener
or two for our particular song?
(disclaimer: this is the first poem I've polished or shared in several years, so I'm a bit rusty at this. That being said, any and all critiques are welcome.)
Also, to listen to this whale's song, go here: http://www.pmel.noaa.gov/vents/acoustics/whales/sounds/sounds_52blue.html
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2 comments:
Dear Marianna,
I love this! I love the language, textured with sciencey-information but very down-to-earth (down to sea?) and I love the story that is told--a singular whale who captures the attention of a puzzlingly plural narrator. The narrator's fascination with this whale "like no other" (I don't think the italics are at all necessary here, by the way) gives the impression that the narrator is wary of being an "I"; this human interest angle I think would be hugely heightened if you cut the final stanza, leaving the narrator a little more lost, a little more in the dark about her own desires, which evade analysis. Plaintive indeed.
Hope this helps. Also: stanza 3, line one, I believe it's "piqued", no?
Love,
Elsbeth
I think you're right--the last stanza could go. I was going for a Mary Oliver sort of thing, but it might just be more distracting.
Thanks for the comments!
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