An old mapmaker of local renown
roams a narrow beach between the sea
and sheer cliff that forms a promontory
on the outskirts of this coastal town.
He shakes his fist and shouts at the sea,
berating the waves that batter the shore,
drown his words with a thunderous roar,
and threaten his published geography
with a watery blasphemy.
Towering above him, the stone-faced crag
watches his antics, impassive and dour,
its creviced face like a furrowed brow,
resigned to the tide’s inevitable drag,
the superior force of the ocean’s invasion.
The mapmaker’s shouts drift away and float,
abob like timbers from a shipwrecked boat,
on an ocean impervious to rhetorical persuasion.
on an ocean impervious to rhetorical persuasion.
I truly loved this poem. It speaks so eloquently to man's (Woman's) desire to dominate that which s/he will NEVER be able to dominate. With my second reading I completely felt the earth's acceptance of its fate while man rants and raves, his ranting and raving 'signifying nothing.' Thanks
ReplyDeleteWe humans really are pathetic and irrelevant little things compared with nature's power, aren't we? Love the language -- this is a poem that wants to be read aloud!
ReplyDeleteYou don't mess with Mother Nature! Or try to tie her down to specific boundaries. She will have her way with you, just like she had with the renowned mapmaker. She commands respect. She'll make sure you know who's boss and it sure isn't a mere mortal. Better to toss the map out and appreciate nature's awesome display, whatever form it takes.
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