En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Part 5 of Trout Fishing in America

WORSEWICK

Worsewick Hot Springs was nothing fancy. Somebody put some

boards across the creek. That was it.

The boards dammed up the creek enough to form a huge

bathtub there, and the creek flowed over the top of the boards,

invited like a postcard to the ocean a thousand miles away.

As I said Worsewick was nothing fancy, not like the

places where the swells go. There were no buildings around.

We saw an old shoe lying by the tub.

The hot springs came down off a hill and where they flowed

there was a bright orange scum through the sagebrush. The

hot springs flowed into the creek right there at the tub and

that' s where it was nice.

We parked our car on the dirt road and went down and took

off our clothes, then we took off the baby's clothes, and the

deerflies had at us until we got into the water, and then they

stopped.

There was a green slime growing around the edges of the

tub and there were dozens of dead fish floating in our bath.

Their bodies had been turned white by death, like frost on

iron doors. Their eyes were large and stiff.

The fish had made the mistake of going down the creek too

far and ending up in hot water, singing, "When you lose your

money, learn to lose."

We played and relaxed in the water. The green slime and

the dead fish played and relaxed with us and flowed out over

us and entwined themselves about us.

Splashing around in that hot water with my woman, I began

to get ideas, as they say. After a while I placed my body in

such a position in the water that the baby could not see my

hard-on.

I did this by going deeper and deeper in the water, like a

dinosaur, and letting the green slime and dead fish cover me

over.

My woman took the baby out of the water and gave her a

bottle and put her back in the car. The baby was tired. It was

really time for her to take a nap.

My woman took a blanket out of the car and covered up the

windows that faced the hot springs. She put the blanket ontop

of the car and then lay rocks on the blanket to hold it in place.

I remember her standing there by the car.

Then she came back to the water, and the deerflies were

at her, and then it was my turn. After a while she said, "I

don't have my diaphragm with me and besides it wouldn't

work in the water, anyway. I think it's a good idea if you

don't come inside me. What do you think?"

I thought this over and said all right. I didn't want any

more kids for a long time. The green slime and dead fish

were all about our bodies.

I remember a dead fish floated under her neck. I waited

for it to come up on the other side, and it came up on the

other side.

Worsewick was nothing fancy.

Then I came, and just cleared her in a split secondlike

an airplane in the movies, pulling out of a nosedive and sail-

ing over the roof of a school.

My sperm came out into the water, unaccustomed to the

light, and instantly it became a misty, stringy kind of thing

and swirled out like a falling star, and I saw a dead fishcome

forward and float into my sperm, bending it in the middle.

His eyes were stiff like iron.

poem by Richard Brautigan
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Fish Out Of Water

I feel so out of place here
With this high society
These high fallutin people
Dont know what to make of me
I feel like a minnow in a sea of moby dicks
A small fry in a big pan
Theyre caviar -- Im fish sticks
Fish out of water
I know I dont belong
Fish out of water
Everything I do is wrong
My style of hair, the clothes I wear
The way I speak, the things I eat
The way I act, my lack of tact
Nothin seems to fit
Fish out of water
Flounderin round
Out of my element
But Im just as good as they are
Why do I feel second rate
Its like, sorry charlie,
We want only tuna with good taste
I guess you could say wal-mart
Is quite a way from guccis
Im timex, theyre rolex
Im captain ds, theyre sushi
Fish out of water
Ive had it to the gills
Fish out of water
With these yuppie-guppie frills
Yeah, Im a square in a round hole
A catfish in a goldfish bowl
A little fish with lots of soul
Out of my element
Fish out of water
Flounderin round just for the halibut
Save me, save me
S.o.s. somebody
Save me, save me
Somebody rescue me
Fish out of water
Somebody throw me in
Fish out of water
On a scale of one to ten
Im a two, perhaps a three
Compared to the big fish in the sea
Im washed ashore so save me please
Im in an awful fix
Fish out of water
Rescue me
And you better do it quick
Fish out of water
Its such a culture shock
Fish out of water
My stomachs tied in knots
Fish out of water
Fish out of water

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Running Water

Playing around like a clown
I didn't see a puddle of water
on the ground
Falling from the dip
I lost my grip
to face down
water dripping
from my head to my draws
It was like
going down Niagra falls
having a view
of all bodys of water
from the creek, lake, river
ocean and sea
I thought I was watching TV
falling from a tree
to what sudden deepth
wait upon me
A great whale waitting
to eat me
to bones
all of my flesh
all I saw
at bottom was rocks and stones
my blood and chest
The bodys of water
was a total mess
Swirving in and out
to the red sea
the Atlantic Ocean was now upon me
I can barely see
Sliding the crust of the narrow Potomac River
I was thirsty
and ready to drink
only to see trash
passing by
I must think
pushing the water fountain
cloud of dirt
beside Oxon Hill Creek
is there any real water
to drink
I was just running water
in my cell
hurt
hoping for the best
water come clean and fresh

poem by LaRon Green Sr.
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Fish Out Of Water

You always said you were the compassionate one
But now you're laughing at the sun
With all your high class friends you think you've got it made
The only thing you made was that tanned look on your face
With all your cigarettes and fancy cars
You ain't a clue who or what you are

You're dreaming your life away
Fish out of water
Go swim in the tide today
Fish out of water

We used to sit and talk about primal scream
To exorsice our past was our adolescent dream
But now it's sink or swim since your memory fails
Now in Neptune's kitchen you will be food for killer whales
And on the crucifix his mother made
Hangs one more martyr to the hit parade

You're dreaming you're life away
Fish out of water
Go swim in the tide today
Fish out of water

You're dreaming you're life away
Fish out of water
Go swim in the tide today
Fish out of water

song performed by by Tears For Fears from Elemental
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The Fish Year

Marico brought back a tank with salt water from Brazil,
Wnetta bought small stones and water plants from pet store,
The red fish and black fish were got from
Hua’s backyard pond,
After Chris checking the filter
and water temperature,
everything is set,
and the fish is ready to grow and bred.

Gundi feeds the fish everyday,
and watches them day and night.
The red fish swim up and down,
The black fish swim down and up,
The green water plants swing their long leaves
upside down.

We can hear the talk from the tank:
One lady, two ladies, three ladies…
One man, two men, three men…
American, German, Chinese, Brazilian,
Indian, Russian…
The fish is counting! ! !
Counting the people in the lab!
Maybe they learned the counting from Gundi,
Gundi is a great mathematician,
She always counts when she watches them:
One fish, two fish, three fish…
Red fish, black fish, red-black fish…

That’s our first fish year,
we expect to have the second, the third,
and then for ever.

poem by Dongming Zhou
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The Lake Josephus Days

We left Little Redfish for Lake Josephus, traveling along the good names — from Stanley to Capehorn to Seafoam to the Rapid River, up Float Creek, past the Greyhound Mine and then to Lake Josephus, and a few days after that up the trail to Hell-diver Lake with the baby on my shoulders and a good limit of trout waiting in Hell-diver.

Knowing the trout would wait there like airplane tickets for us to come, we stopped at Mushroom Springs and had a drink of cold shadowy water and some photographs taken of the baby and me sitting together on a log.

I hope someday we'll have enough money to get those pictures developed. Sometimes I get curious about them, wondering if they will turn out all right. They are in suspension now like seeds in a package. I'll be older when they are developed and easier to please. Look there's the baby! Look there's Mushroom Springs! Look there's me!

I caught the limit of trout within an hour of reaching Hell-diver, and my woman, in all the excitement of good fishing, let the baby fall asleep directly in the sun and when the baby woke up, she puked and I carried her back down the trail.

My woman trailed silently behind, carrying the rods and the fish. The baby puked a couple more times, thimblefuls of gentle lavender vomit, but still it got on my clothes, and her face was hot and flushed.

We stopped at Mushroom Springs. I gave her a small drink of water, not too much, and rinsed the vomit taste out of her mouth. Then I wiped the puke off my clothes and for some strange reason suddenly it was a perfect time, there at Mushroom Springs, to wonder whatever happened to the Zoot suit.

Along with World War II and the Andrews Sisters, the Zoot suit had been very popular in the early 40s. I guess they were all just passing fads.

A sick baby on the trail down from Hell-diver, July 1961, is probably a more important question. It cannot be left to go on forever, a sick baby to take her place in the galaxy, among the comets, bound to pass close to the earth every 173 years.

She stopped puking after Mushroom Springs, and I carried her back down along the path in and out of the shadows and across other nameless springs, and by the time we got down to Lake Josephus, she was all right.

She was soon running around with a big cutthroat trout in her hands, carrying it like a harp on her way to a concert — ten minutes late with no bus in sight and no taxi either.

poem by Richard Brautigan
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Fish with no tail

as i gaze out of nature... i have seen a fish without a tail
impossible but its true, first things came up to my mind
is, ask whether its worth to give time to remember all
the scene or perhaps, just a memories of a simple
goodbye

as the fish swim, deep beneath the crystal blue water, i
couldn't remember the minutes, the hours past, nay i felt
that i haven't taken my meal, it seems all are just a blink
of a second in my eyes

it keeps on bubbling, even in a thousands seconds it
stay in the water, until i notice that the fish fail to surface
beneath the running water, for the absence of the tail
the body is nothing

all is just a mirror of a fish that, every movement of the
body, the twist of the tail has to follow, its a paradox to
believe that we see the tail of other fish, nay never we
saw that we don't have tail of our own

like the fish it swim, with no direction, only an inspiration
that we can do, yet as it goes there we go, tail that swim
in the water stream with no affection of what to do

now i see, how to swim, in water, lou! where i may go...in
the world of stream when everybody is frame......

poem by Antonio Liao
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Looking for Water

Still the leaves are spinning 'round
Take my hand as we go down, and down, and down
Looking for water
Well, our light's gone in a New York minute
Don't know about you, but my heart's not in it
(Looking, looking, looking)
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
(Looking, looking, looking)
I can't breathe the air, can't raise a fact
'Cause all we've got left is a beat in the night, and I'm
(Looking for water)
Looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
Take my hand as we go down, and down
Leave it all behind, nothing could be found
(I'm, looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
(I, looking for water)
Looking everywhere
(Looking for water)
Looking here and there
(I'm looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I can't live in this cage, I can't eat this candy
The edge of the earth to the spin in my head
The look in your eyes and never means never
The dawn's early light, baby, dark is forever
(Looking, looking)
(Looking, looking)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)

song performed by by David Bowie, music by David Bowie, lyrics by David Bowie from Reality
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Water 2

Ah xxxxx
there is a warm place
in my body
it is water
an ocean entering tributaries
that have carried silver fish
and you love, love, love
love, the silver of these fish
that carry the sun on their backs
they have travelled long distances
beneath my skin
bodies flapping like open limbs
satisfied

Ah xxxxx
I cannot flow
other than as water
this is my love, water
water,
spreading over you
loosening feelings
moistening stones
the glistening translucent
froth of sirens screaming
leaves golden floating in your eyes
everything washed away
except the great bruises of passion
that turn yellow, xxxxx
on the inside, weeping,
coalescing, warm final tears that shine
like the lights of a sad, sunken ferry
submerged under skin
in layers of silent turgid sacs

Ah xxxxx
we are water
we are falling water
we are the voice of water
and we are wet with its love

poem by For Matilde
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I Am Water

Ah xxxxx
there is a warm place
in my body
it is water
an ocean entering tributaries
that have carried silver fish
and you love, love, love
love, the silver of these fish
that carry the sun on their backs
they have travelled long distances
beneath my skin
bodies flapping like open limbs
satisfied

Ah xxxxx
I cannot flow
other than as water
this is my love, water
water,
spreading over you
loosening feelings
moistening stones
the glistening translucent
froth of sirens screaming
leaves golden floating in your eyes
everything washed away
except the great bruises of passion
that turn yellow, xxxxx
on the inside, weeping,
coalescing, warm final tears that shine
like the lights of a sad, sunken ferry
submerged under skin
in layers of silent turgid sacs

Ah xxxxx
we are water
we are falling water
we are the voice of water
and we are wet with its love

poem by L.B. Temuco
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Part 8 of Trout Fishing in America

A RETURN TO THE COVER OF

THIS BOOK

Dear Trout Fishing in America:

I met your friend Fritz in Washington Square. He told me

to tell you that his case went to a jury and that he was acquit-

ted by the jury.

He said that it was important for me to say that his case

went to a jury and that he was acquitted by the jury,

said it again.

He looked in good shape. He was sitting in the sun. There's

an old San Francisco saying that goes: "It's better to rest in

Washington Square than in the California Adult Authority. "

How are things in New York?

Yours,

"An Ardent Admirer"

Dear Ardent Admirer:

It's good to hear that Fritz isn't in jail. He was very wor-

ried about it. The last time I was in San Francisco, he told

me he thought the odds were 10-1 in favor of him going away.

I told him to get a good lawyer. It appears that he followed

my advice and also was very lucky. That's always a good

combination.

You asked about New York and New York is very hot.

I'm visiting some friends, a young burglar and his wife.

He's unemployed and his wife is working as a cocktail wait-

ress. He's been looking for work but I fear the worst.

It was so hot last night that I slept with a wet sheet wrapped

around myself, trying to keep cool. I felt like a mental patient.

I woke up in the middle of the night and the room was filled

with steam rising off the sheet, and there was jungle stuff,

abandoned equipment and tropical flowers, on the floor and

on the furniture.

I took the sheet into the bathroom and plopped it into the

tub and turned the cold water on it. Their dog came in and

started barking at me.

The dog barked so loud that the bathroom was soon filled

with dead people. One of them wanted to use my wet sheet

for a shroud. I said no, and we got into a big argument over

it and woke up the Puerto Ricans in the next apartment, and

they began pounding on the walls.

The dead people all left in a huff. "We know when we're

not wanted, " one of them said.

"You're damn tootin'," I said.

I've had enough.

I' m going to get out of New York. Tomorrow I'm leaving for

Alaska. I'm going to find an ice-cold creek near the Arctic

where that strange beautiful moss grows and spend a week

with the grayling. My address will be, Trout Fishing in Ameri-

ca, c/o General Delivery, Fairbanks, Alaska.

Your friend,

Trout Fishing in America

THE LAKE JOSEPHUS DAYS

We left Little Redfish for Lake Josephus, traveling along the

good names--from Stanley to Capehorn to Seafoam to the

Rapid River, up Float Creek, past the Greyhound Mine and

then to Lake Josephus, and a few days after that up the trail

to Hell-diver Lake with the baby on my shoulders and a good

limit of trout waiting in Hell-diver.

Knowing the trout would wait there like airplane tickets

for us to come, we stopped at Mushroom Springs and had a

drink of cold shadowy water and some photographs taken of

the baby and me sitting together on a log.

I hope someday we'll have enough money to get those pic-

tures developed. Sometimes I get curious about them, won-

dering if they will turn out all right. They are in suspension

now like seeds in a package. I'll be older when they are de-

veloped and easier to please. Look there's the baby ! Look

there's Mushroom Springs ! Look there's me !

I caught the limit of trout within an hour of reaching Hell-

diver, and my woman, in all the excitement of good fishing,

let the baby fall asleep directly in the sun and when the baby

woke up, she puked and I carried her back down the trail.

My woman trailed silently behind, carrying the rods and

the fish. The baby puked a couple more times, thimblefuls

of gentle lavender vomit, but still it got on my clothes, and

her face was hot and flushed.

We stopped at Mushroom Springs. I gave her a small

drink of water, not too much, and rinsed the vomit taste out

of her mouth. Then I wiped the puke off my clothes and for

some strange reason suddenly it was a perfect time, there

at Mushroom Springs, to wonder whatever happened to the

Zoot suit.

Along with World War II and the Andrews Sisters, the

Zoot suit had been very popular in the early 40s. I guess

they were all just passing fads.

A sick baby on the trail down from Hell-diver, July 1961,

is probably a more important question. It cannot be left to

go on forever, a sick baby to take her place in the galaxy,

among the comets, bound to pass close to the earth every

173 years.

She stopped puking after Mushroom Springs, and I carried

her back down along the path in and out of the shadows and

across other nameless springs, and by the time we got down

to Lake Josephus, she was all right.

She was soon running around with a big cutthroat trout in

her hands, carrying it like a harp on her way to a concert--

ten minutes late with no bus in sight and no taxi either

poem by Richard Brautigan
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Fish And Shadow

The salmon-trout drifts in the stream,
The soul of the salmon-trout floats over the stream
Like a little wafer of light.

The salmon moves in the sun-shot, bright shallow sea. . . .

As light as the shadow of the fish
that falls through the water,
She came into the large room by the stair,
Yawning a little she came with the sleep still upon her.

'I am just from bed. The sleep is still in my eyes.
'Come. I have had a long dream.'
And I: That wood?
'And two springs have passed us.'
'Not so far, no, not so far now,
There is a place but no one else knows it
A field in a valley . . .
Qu'ieu sui avinen,
Ieu lo sai,'

She must speak of the time
Of Arnaut de Mareuil, I thought, 'qu'ieu sui avinen.’

Light as the shadow of the fish
That falls through the pale green water.

poem by Ezra Pound
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Swedish Fish

Green or red, goodnight, remember
Green is best of all the flavours
Go ahead, its only water
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my secret wish
Talk to me, I need attention
Tell me all of your confessions
Tell me if I cease to mention
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my pisces gift
Im never coming back
I am too far gone
Wont you be heading this way
Before too long?
Im holding on you
To you
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my secret wish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my favourite gift

song performed by by Veruca Salt
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Everything's Turning To White

Late on a Friday my husband went up to the mountains with three friends
They took provisions and bottles of bourbon to last them all through the weekend
One hundred miles they drove just to fish in a stream
And there's so much water so close to home
When they arrived it was cold and dark; they set up their camp quickly
Warmed up with whisky they walked to the river where the water flowed past darkly
In the moonlight they saw the body of a young girl floating face down
And there's so much water so close to home
When he hold me now I'm pretending
I feel like I'm frozen inside
And behind my eyes

song performed by by Kasey Chambers
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Fish and Water

Me, very fishy, unable to understand water
Move about in search of an answer

They say water, water everywhere
But what is water they don’t say

Where is water, I don’t see, don’t feel
I move all right, so what?

Water, water everywhere
I don’t drink a drop

Let me ask the giant fish
The grand sire, who knows better

And he tells without water
You can live not a moment …

poem by Raveendran N.V.
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The Nude Swim

On the southwest side of Capri
we found a little unknown grotto
where no people were and we
entered it completely
and let our bodies lose all
their loneliness.

All the fish in us
had escaped for a minute.
The real fish did not mind.
We did not disturb their personal life.
We calmly trailed over them
and under them, shedding
air bubbles, little white
balloons that drifted up
into the sun by the boat
where the Italian boatman slept
with his hat over his face.

Water so clear you could
read a book through it.
Water so buoyant you could
float on your elbow.
I lay on it as on a divan.
I lay on it just like
Matisse's Red Odalisque.
Water was my strange flower,
one must picture a woman
without a toga or a scarf
on a couch as deep as a tomb.

The walls of that grotto
were everycolor blue and
you said, 'Look! Your eyes
are seacolor. Look! Your eyes
are skycolor.' And my eyes
shut down as if they were
suddenly ashamed.

poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Upon the Fish in The Water

The water is the fish's element;
Take her from thence, none can her death prevent;
And some have said, who have transgressors been,
As good not be, as to be kept from sin.

2.

The water is the fish's element:
Leave her but there, and she is well content.
So's he, who in the path of life doth plod,
Take all, says he, let me but have my God.

3.

The water is the fish's element,
Her sportings there to her are excellent;
So is God's service unto holy men,
They are not in their element till then.

poem by John Bunyan
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The Canal

when I go to school,
I have to walk by side of a canal
I would be curios to see fish and crabs
But when I look into water these days
I saw garbage thrown in the water.

There are no creatures living in water
The garbage blocks the flow of water
The water is thoroughly polluted.
Like this everywhere its happening
We all are responsible for it.

poem by Shaleeka V.p
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The roadside bathers

The water of life streamed
Through the broken roadside tap
The sun burned like a death-fire
On bodies, bloodless and charred.
The white cloth clung to flesh
Laying bare embers of lost hopes
Unceasing the water flowed
Onto the soap-lathered bodies
And thence into the foul gutter
If only time went reverse
These ebony bodies would love
To swim back to the safety
Of that primeval water body
From where they had journeyed here
A journey back from fire to water.

poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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The Lung Fish

The Honorable Ardleigh Wyse
Was every fisherman's despair;
He caught his fish on floating flies,
In fact he caught them in the air,
And wet-fly men -- good sports, perhaps --
He called "those chuck-and-chance-it chaps".
And then the Fates that sometimes play
A joke on such as me and you
Deported him up Queensland way
To act as a station jackaroo.
The boundary rider said, said he,
"You fish dry fly? Well, so do we.

"These barramundi are the blokes
To give you all the sport you need:
For when the big lagoons and soaks
Are dried right down to mud and weed
They don't sit there and raise a roar,
They pack their traps and come ashore.

"And all these rods and reels you lump
Along the creek from day to day
Would only give a man the hump
Who does his fishing Queensland way.
For when the barramundi's thick
We knock 'em over with a stick.

"The black boys on the Darwin side
Will fill a creek with bitter leaves
And when the fish are stupefied
The gins will gather 'em in sheaves.
Now tell me, could a feller wish
A finer way of catchin' fish?"

The stokehold of the steamship Foam
Contains our hero, very sick,
A-working of his passage home
And brandishing a blue gum stick.
"Behold," says he, "the latest fly;
It's called the Great Australian Dry."

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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First Water

First Water

The water had its beginning before earthly time began
Before even the first born God would call man.
The Creator knew the value and significance of water
Just as the second human creation we call a daughter.

Man certainly does not live by bread alone
But along side the children who sleep at home.
Man can survive without food for a very long time
But not for long without water for the vine.

The universal one covered earth with two thirds water
Still not as miraculous as the gift of a daughter.
More bounty in the water than in the soil
How expressive is the holy one when we toil.

A green tree grows on coral with a great deal of salt
A desire of the eternal God who has no fault.
The Creator put birds in the sky and fish in the sea
Saving the land for man's children and family.

Water cleans, heals and provides
Mother nature gives, replenishes and renews; with each new tide

02-19-06 Aho Speaks
..

poem by AHO Speaks
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