2010 Poetry Outstanding Entry

Elisabeth Wentworth

Choosing My Sails

The topgallant will be my sail
As I navigate these uncharted seas.
My mainsail had a hole blown in it
By an enemy known well in mariner’s tales
Whose name strikes fear and lasting unease
into the stoutest heart.

No holy writ
Can reach its dark-humoured kin
Who know not their place in the world,
Don’t keep to their lands, or respect a truce.
They are greedy, not brave.

I was running before the glorious wind
Cutting the swell like a razor, all sails unfurled.
All hands to their posts. Not a barrel or rope loose.
The prescient dolphins riding the waves
Before me when they attacked from behind. One shot.
And not from a heavy gun, a mere four-pounder
But it had all the force of surprise
And one mast was cracked with it.

What ocean realm did they come from? Not
From any place seen or suspected.  No sounder
Eyes nor ears did any crew have. The captain’s surmise?
They were hidden in some mist.
No matter. We had to head back.

And so I have limped into harbour
A sloop in need of repair
Anchored impatiently while the carpenters test for
The kinds of cracks that can’t be seen by the naked eye
But will sink you nonetheless, one day, in some foreign air
Under some future sky.

Some thought is given to the rigging – how best
To prepare for this new and unmapped voyage.
I choose the small, gallant sail that waits, high, above the rest.
And is unfurled when courage is required
And all the wind must be caught and harnessed
If we are to stay a true course.
The topgallant will be my sail.  This is my pledge.
God be with me, I do not ask for more.

Judge's Comments

I like the author's assurance; the restrained, yet somehow loose voice. 'The prescient dolphins riding the waves/Before me' are certainly the ambassadors of health, but how easily they disappear. The form of the poem, set out on sestets, is solid and references back to the  gravitas of earlier literatures such as Moby Dick, The Ancient Mariner and other sea adventures. I am generally wary of the poem written as an extended metaphor, because it can become laboured and restrict the imagination, but this poem, skillfully, makes new an old tradition. There is nothing tired about it. There is energy in the language that makes me want to sail despite the odds.

Judge: Jennifer Harrison Poet.

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