The Ballad Of The Oysterman
IT was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.
It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid,
Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade;
He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
'I 'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away.'
Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,
'I guess I 'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see
I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,
Leander swam the Hellespont,--and I will swim this here.'
And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;
Oh there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain,--
But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!
Out spoke the ancient fisherman,--'Oh, what was that, my daughter?'
''T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water.'
'And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?'
'It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that 's been a swimming past.'
Out spoke the ancient fisherman,--'Now bring me my harpoon!
I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon.'
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb,
Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam.
Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,
And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned;
But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe,
And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Lana Jane
Every boy loved her- Lana Jane,
And who could blame them? She was fair,
Of perfect form and beauty rare,
But none could have her, Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
And he no man to barter.
For he would take poor Lana Jane
To sea, and she would stay the boat
When harbored; thus, a dreadful moat
Would bar the way to Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
But he refused to barter.
In fourteen years, sweet Lana Jane,
Was never seen upon the shore
Among the boys who wanted more
Than life to see their Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
Whose father ne'er would barter.
The legend grew of Lana Jane,
While scores of ports, legions of ships
Claimed: “She’s aboard! ” through whispered lips,
“The rarest beauty, Lana Jane,
“The fisherman’s only daughter.
“She's yours to see. Let's barter! ”
Fisherman jim's kids
Fisherman Jim lived on the hill
With his bonnie wife an' his little boys;
'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will -
Naught we reck of your cold and noise!"
For happy and warm were he an' his,
And he dandled his kids upon his knee
To the song of the sea.
Fisherman Jim would sail all day,
But, when come night, upon the sands
His little kids ran from their play,
Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands;
Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high,
He'd hear'em - you bet - above the roar
Of the waves on the shore!
Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay
As the sun went down in a cloudy sky,
And never a kid saw he at play,
And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry.
In his little house he learned it all,
And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head -
"The fever!" they said.
'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim,
With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes,
A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him
An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries
He had heerd so often upon the sands;
For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ashore -
Till they spoke no more.
But Fisherman Jim lived on and on,
Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea;
As a man will live when his heart is gone,
Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly,
Till once in those years they come an' said:
"Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick -
Go to him, quick!"
Then Fisherman Jim says he to me:
"It's a long, long cruise-you understand -
But over beyont the ragin' sea
I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand
Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore,
Just as they used to - ah, mate, you know! -
In the long ago."
No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die;
For all night long he seemed to see
His little boys of the days gone by,
An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me!
An' just as the mornin' sun come up -
"They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried,
An' so he died.
poem by Eugene Field
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At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
while the rain pours down
like water out of God’s hosepipe
with engines roaring in the ears
and clouds of smoke hang over the boats
with every fisherman for a moment being caught
in a own world while fog whirl about the boats
that rocks up and down to the harbour mouth.
The waves crash, the sea foams and bubbles
and “my girlfriend has a good lover, ”
is sung by one while the trawler sets its course
on the look out for barracouta, cod and sea trout.
“Look at the shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, ”
a fisherman shouts against the wind that pulls and pulls on the boat.
“Salmon man, salmon” roars the tiller man back and walls of water
roll past and the boat turns to get fishing gear ready.
“My girlfriend has a good lover and he’s a gelded goat, ”
the tune goes on and something clatters down
drawing the attention of the fishermen and the water shines
and when the boat is full they tell jokes that they guffaw at.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Two Boys Fishing
Two little boys fishing
Cheeky lads in short pants
Sitting on a river bank
Sharing sweets and fizzy drinks
Wondering what life may bring.
Two teenage boys fishing
Now shaving in the mornings
Sitting on a river bank
Talking of girls and a first time kiss
Excited by what love may bring.
Two young men at a wedding
Hard working, friends for life
One the groom the other best man
Talking softly waiting for the bride
Who comes so radiant in white.
Two middle-aged men
Abundant with family love and work
Sitting on a river bank
Talking of mortgages, school fees
And of coming Government elections.
Two old men fishing, old and grey
Grandfathers looking back at life
Sitting on a river bank
Grateful for each other's company
Sharing life's highway to God.
poem by Colin Ian Jeffery
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The River
When my wife died I used to walk alone by the river,
but I don’t go near there any more.
Lost souls who had drowned used to speak to me
of the lives they had once before.
Every time I went they asked me to enter the water,
‘It will clear your mind, ’ they said.
I told them that I had never learned how to swim
and drowning is the only thing I dread.
One early morning I was walking along the river-bank
and the bank collapsed beneath my feet.
I found myself being swept along by the raging current
and saw my wife drowning in the deep.
Several of the dead I used to talk with held me under,
my breath expired and I just sank.
My wife pulled me up from the river’s depths
and a fisherman revived me on the bank.
poem by Orlando Belo
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A Tall Story part two
There is a bridge that crosses over a river
A river that is eerie and makes you quiver
With the light of the moon the river will gleam
and a boat will go sailing, on its own down
stream. The mist will come from out of the trees
and horrible sounds can be heard in the breeze.
It sounded like cats caught up in a fight a claim
for territory in the dead of night, but cats never fight
on the waters edge just in case they fall over the ledge.
A river bank full of matted reeds where plants had died
without dispersing their seeds.A man dressed in green
who paddles the stream who can be seen clear in the
moonlit beam.Sometimes you hear him digging on
the side of the river bank, could this be true or is it
some sort of a prank
A river full of alge green and that's how it had
always been. No carp, no bream no fish to fish not
even a place for a secret wish.
No river bank wildlife to give it grace, just run over the
bridge and get out of this place.
The story tells of a robber who stood about three feet
tall and because of his height he couldent climbe over
the wall. Now behind the wall was the river which spread
down far and wide and the man in green had a problem
because he could'nt get to the other side.So he hid the
loot inside his boot and started to dig under the wall
but as he dug the water flooded in and he sank to
the bottom of the pool.
Apart from one thing he could not swim and the weight
of the loot that was in his boot no doubt made him take
root.If you go to the river and see the man in green, then
please come back and tell us what you have seen.
This is a tall story one with a short tale, I am sorry it
didn't excit you, but my next one wont fail.
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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The Golden Boat
Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the paddy it started to rain.
One small paddy-field, no one but me -
Flood-waters twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village painted on deep morning grey.
On this side a paddy-field, no one but me.
Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.
Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile -
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.
Take it, take as much as you can load.
Is there more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense labour here by the river -
I have parted with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me as well, be kind, take me aboard.
No room, no room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare river-bank, I remain alone -
What had has gone: the golden boat took all.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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River’s Utterance
River’s utterance
Known to both the banks;
Inform you river
Tell him that I am
Sitting on side of bank-
When boat anchor
Swimming is unknown
I am totally helpless;
How to cross river
All time day-night
High or low tide boat flows-
Crosses the river
O! Why the boat
You took him dropping me;
No life except her.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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At Lambert's Bay The Fishing Trawlers Sail Out
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
where clouds of smoke hang over the boats
while the rain pours down in buckets.
The waves hit, the sea foams and bubble,
it looks as if a storm is rising
and 'my girlfriend has a fine fellow, '
one sings in darkness before he starts whistling
where clouds of smoke hang over the boats.
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
seeking snoek, cod and sea-trout
and the boat turns to get out fishing gear,
it looks as if a storm is rising
and the men wait on the sea's first gifts
with rain like only God's hosepipe brings
while the rain pours down in buckets.
'Look at that shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, '
the song continues and something falls down
and the boat turns to get out fishing gear,
with engines roaring loudly
every fisherman is caught for a moment.
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
'my girlfriend has a fine fellow and he is a wild goat, '
one sings against the wind with more joining voices,
the song continues and something falls down
and the tiller-man wonders about the sudden rain
but the fishermen are catching
while the rain pours down in buckets
they are standing ready but half-blinded
'Where are we going on the wide, wide sea'
one sings against the wind with more joining voices,
gigantic waves hits and pulls the boat
and some fishermen are scared.
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
while the rain pours down in buckets
while the fishermen sing their song:
'The waves hit, the sea foams and bubble, '
'where are we going on the wide, wide sea'
and 'my girlfriend has a fine fellow.'
[Reference: Barracouta is known in South-Africa as 'snoek.']
poem by Gert Strydom
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Rongmon the Fisherman by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika (Translated from Assamese)
That morning
Rongmon the Fisherman
Went fishing
On his wobbly little boat
'Please don't go fishing!
Please don't go fishing!
Look, there comes the storm
O Rongmon, listen,
The river is swarming
With crocodiles
Thirsting for blood'
But towards the evening
In middle of the river
He disappeared 'thout a trace
Beating her bosom
Look'in at heaven
(Rohdoi) gave out a heart piercing wail
‘Go, you waves, take flight
I'll find my way through the night
My Rongmon must be brought home'
Lying on the beach
Brought by the waves
Atlast, She found her Man...
(Translated by S.A.Shah, Bokultol)
poem by Syed Ahmed Shah
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Along the river
Water bends, rolls down
to fiind a place to banks,
waves break by stones
and curl up around them,
yellow poplars,
that watch the river, tremble,
drooping willows wash their locks
in hesitating water.
I remember how I was fishing
under shaded banks
with my friends.
Fishes were avoiding my fishing rod
and were inviting me to the competition with them.
From the river that winds tremblingly,
I hear melancholic verse of the natives
gone to the fishing with the boat.I have felt asleep.
It has seemed to me that a beautiful gondola with a miraculous fairy
has crossed the river.
I was charmed by the beauty of the fairy
that has glittered on the lustre of the water.
On the bank, I have done token to the gondola
and the oarsman has brought the gondola near the bank.
At the light of the torch, I have caught the hand of the fairy
and I have invited her on the bank.
A spark has died out in her heart,
bugle of silver has blown long
the disappearance of the gondola.
The fishers from the village have woken me up:
„ It was getting late.You have to go home”.
poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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hero And Leander
** HERO AND LEANDER
The Dardanelles is a narrow strait which links, -
The strait of Bosporus with the Aegean Sea;
And also separates the European from the Asian
side of Turkey!
In the ancient days this strait was better known
as Hellespont,
With its narrowest stretch between Sestos and
Abydos!
Hero, the beautiful virgin priestess of Aphrodite*, -
Lived in Sestos on the European side!
Leander a fiery youth from Abydos, lived on
the opposite side of Sestos!
Leander saw Hero at a religious festival at Sestos,
And it was love at first sight we are assured!
Leander wooed Hero with many soft words of
entreaty;
How could Aphrodite the Goddess of Love and
Beauty, -
Accept a virgin’s worship in the logic of all
things?
For it never did fit in to the scheme of things!
Hero finally consented and returned Leander’s
love!
Every night she lit a lamp on Sesto’s tower above!
To guide Leander as he swam the Hellespont -
And to come safely to her waiting shores!
One day a violent storm broke out at sea, -
Making Leander to drift far out at sea!
The strong winds had extinguished Hero’s
tower light,
What fate ordains can hardly be denied!
Hero jumped from the tower overcome with
grief,
And at the bottom of the Hellespont they both
peacefully sleep!
-Raj Nandy
18 Apr 09
New Delhi
(Composed this poem-based on an old Greek myth I
came across reading Byzantine History! *Greek Aphrodite -
is the Roman Venus, – the goddess of love.)
A Boat-ride, Surreal
there, there...down there
through a thicket of fog
beckoned a vacant boat
i fought through the fog
and reached a zone, misty
the boat pulled me as if
i were a piece of iron
i hastened through
the layers and layers...
there i was, at last
assured that it would
take me to the other bank
it wasn't to be
the gently rocking boat
began on an erratic sail
down down the stream
in its womb of deception
hid many a whirlpool
the waters jerky...
hey, what was i doing
sitting in a boat with no oars
nor knowing how to swim...!
'you're the boatman
you're the oars...
row row...
the other bank
a distant dream
row row...'
a song filled the stream...
18dec2009
0540hra
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Past Life?
He placed some juicy worms of rhyme
on steel hooks that dangled from poetic lines,
they wriggled and danced most playfully
with the promise of a satisfactory tea.
The hungry fish came near
quelling doubts and ignoring fear
and in an instant, with a click,
chewed that worm and bit
the dangled hook within.
The fisherman he reeled the line
and raised the rod, in time,
he drew that fish ever closer, near
to the shallow edge of fear,
where waters slow, and where that fish
would not ever choose to go.
Hoisted high with view so new
through the air that fish he flew
then grabbed, unhooked, he met the eyes
of the one that fished
upon the river bank of bliss;
the one that dangled juicy worms of rhyme
from the ends of poetic lines;
and there that fish he knew as true
that dangling worms of rhyme
sharp and penetrating hooks could hide
so when next he clicked his jaws
he would be wary of some disguise
and try to see what lies inside.
The fisherman threw him back
into the waters which sped past the bank
the fish swam on until reaching sea
and with a novel thought had he.
When this life of swimming ends
I will return, and learn to fashion lines of words
that entice with rhymes like wriggling worms
and as someone bites, Ill make them fly so high
and in that most unfamiliar state,
look them deep in their souls eye
and make them wary of disguise,
so that they may always try
to see what truly lies inside.
poem by David Taylor
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My river bank
The water hit the bank
Like a wave upon a shore
Happiness just out of reach
Finding that is something you can’t teach
No one to talk to
No one to see
As you can tell just me
I sit alone on my river bank
No happy people passing by as I let out a gentle sigh
I realized I sit alone on my river bank
Unreal happiness in this unreal tournament they call life
I sit alone, isolated on my river bank
I shall always sit alone on my river bank
I will always be alone on this river bank
poem by EmOzEd johnston
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The Moonlight Fisherman
I saw him in the moonlight,
with a fishing pole in his hand,
There was no water for miles,
and I wondered what he was doing,
for hour's without end.
Then he swished the pole,
back and forth,
and I slept a peaceful sleep.
The next day I awoke,
but I never saw the Moonlight Fisherman again.
But alas, I still waited,
a never-ending hope.
poem by Ivan Ramirez N
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An Essay or A Simple Biography of Yukio Mishima to Please My Brother Lalith!
First of all I must so grateful to my brother
Who introduced me the greatest Japanese Novelist!
Remeber you yelled at me ' Read his The sea of fertility, a cycle of four novels and his tetralogy, 'Spring Snow, Runaway Horses, The temple of dawn and The decay of Angel.'
Sorry brother I have a small volume of second hand books
And I couldn't find those?
I work as a Graveyard shift Cashier for a convenient store
From 1155PM to 700 AM!
And my beloved leaves in the morning for a Montessori
And struggles there with kids!
We're two slow trains of the opposite tracks in the life shuttle?
I do scribbling in my whole life.
I bought his short novel recently from a junk book shop
'The sound of Waves' set in a remote village in Japan
It tells of Shinji, a young fisherman
And Hatsue the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village.
I promise you to finish this book and I remember you told
'Mishima committed seppuku(ritual suicide)
At the age of 45!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Boat and The Sea
I will tell you, my Dear
Story of the Boat and the Sea
'Since the unknown time
The Boat heard the call from the Sea
Wings of Gull, blue waves
Took Boat traveled everywhere, all ways
The Boat's soul's filled with hopes
And the Sea's boundless love
Boat went far, further no tiresome
The Sea was still far...so far
Those nights the moon was gentle
The sea was like a girl, who's little
She whispered, she sent her thoughts
Round the boatside, waves elapsed
Sometimes, causeless
The Sea, its waves, pourred impetuously in the Boat
(Because of Love, for all times, ever was just imovable?)
Only the Boat understood
How boundless the Sea was
Only the Boat knew
Where the Boat went to, back to
The days without meeting
The sea was with white head, with missing
The days without gathering
The Boat was broken - crack
If already seperated from the Boat
The Sea only remained the wind and waves
...up and down, a craze'
If having to be separated from you
I just only remain storms
(composer: Xuân Quỳ nh, traslator: Hanh My Nguyen)
poem by Hanh My Nguyen
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A Fisherman
The sunset hues
colour the sky red
at evening tide
predicting fair weather
for the day ahead.
No storm clouds
to follow me
as I set my sails
on my great fishing boat
for my journey out to sea
with sun and fair winds
to follow me.
A fisherman is my life
with the sail and sea my home.
Free to do what I do best
fish the bounty of the sea.
At dusk, I rest
and wait for the morning fair.
A fisherman is my life,
something I’ll always be
until the day comes along
to visit Davy Jones locker,
but until then I’ll roam free
wherever the fair wind takes me.
No landlover me
as the sea is my home
and where I always want to be,
watching whales and dolphins play
and the gulls for company.
17 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
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