• Happy International Mermaid Day! 🧜🏼‍♀️

Canoe Poems and Haikus

If you'll all forgive an indulgence, this sonnet, "High Flight", very aptly describes why some folks are crazy enough to pilot something that would fall to Earth like a rock, were it not for a pilot. Written by John Magee, a fighter pilot in the Royal Canadian Air Force during World War II. He died in a training accident a few months after writing it. This poem hangs on my office wall.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
 
A canoeist once said to a mate
"A skid plate can be never too great!"
Ere his skid plates did grow
And his travels did slow
Access ponds, in the end, were his fate


(limerick is to poem as Coleman is to canoe ...)
 
Someone quoted this poem this evening in the comments to the New York Times crossword puzzle, and it made me think of our members who live or love the north country in winter.
______________

The Snow Man​


By Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


 
WHEN I SAT DOWN TO PLAY THE PIANO

He cometh forth hurriedly from his tent
And looketh for a quiet sequestered vale
he carrieth a roll of violet toilet tissue
and a forerunner goeth ahead to do him honour
yclept a snotty-nosed Eskimo kid
He findeth a quiet glade among great stones
squatteth forthwith and undoeth trousers
Irrational Man by Wm. Barrett in hand
while the other dismisseth mosquitoes
and beginneth the most natural of natural functions
buttocks balanced above the boulders
Then
dogs1
Dogs3
DOGS12
all shapes and sizes
all colours and religious persuasion
a plague of dogs rushing in
having been attracted by the philosophic climate
and being wistful to learn about existential dogs
and denial of the self with regard to b*tches
But let's call a spade a shovel
therefore there I am I am I think that is
surrounded by a dozen fierce Eskimo dogs
with an inexplicable (to me) appetite
for human excrement
Dear Ann Landers
what would you do?
Dear Galloping Gourmet
what would you do
in a case like this?
Well I'll tell you
NOT A dang THING
You just squat there cursing hopelessly
while the kid throws stones
and tries to keep them off and out from under
as a big black husky dashes in
swift as an enemy submarine
white teeth snapping at the anus
I shriek
and shriek
(the kid laughs)
and hold onto my pants
sans dignity
sans intellect
sans Wm. Barrett
and dang near sans anus
Stand firm little Eskimo kid
it giveth candy if I had any
it giveth a dime in lieu of same
STAND FIRM
Oh Avatar of Olympian excellence
noble Eskimo youth do your stuff
Zeus in the Arctic dog pound
Montcalm at Quebec
Horatius at the bridge
Leonidas at Thermpolylae
Custer's last stand at Little Big Horn
"KEEP THEM dang DOGS OFF
YOU MISERABLE LITTLE BRAT!"
Afterwards
Achilles retreateth without honour
unzippered and sullen
and sulketh in his tent till next time appointed
his anus shrinketh
he escheweth all forms of laxative and physick meanwhile
and prayeth for constipation
addresseth himself to the Eskimo brat miscalled
"Lo tho I walk thru the valley of
the shadowy kennels
in the land of permanent ice cream
I will fear no huskies
for thou art with me
and slingeth thy stones forever and ever
thou veritable David
Amen"
PS Next time I'm gonna take a gun

-Al Purdy
 
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