By For Evie Chapman
She fetches me a mermaid’s purse she has found
among the seaweed where the sand
meets the mound of pebbles the waves have built
and rebuilt over the centuries.
The small black pouch, with tendrils like broken straps
and firm as dried leather, is an empty
egg case, from which a shark or a ray hatched
on the seabed, probably between here
and Ireland. Tides detached and chance brought
this empty womb, wafted by the currents
like a wrecked black sail, or a lost coracle.
Children in bright colours scramble on the mound,
their calls like seabirds lifted on the air.
Mer-people are amongst us, their fishy flanks
invisible. From the future’s gritty depths
she fetches me another gift, a white stone,
large enough to need two carrying hands –
an amalgam of crustaceans calcified,
preserved aeons ago.
fish egg caseIrelandMer-peopleMermaid Purse
Ashen Venema
August 1, 2021Wonderfully evocative.
Evie will come to treasure the surprising stories the sea brings us from its depth..
Alan Horne
August 10, 2021I thought this was good, David, but I only realised how good when I read it aloud. Pretty flawless.
Alan Horne
August 11, 2021Actually, David, I think this requires more of a comment. I’ve always been attracted to the song-like aspect of poetry – to verse, if you like – so I place a high value on reading aloud and, indeed, on reciting from memory. So while not all of my favourites among your poems are especially song-like, many of them are. I have always had a high regard for Dylan Thomas’ verse. He was obviously a silly person who wasted his talents, but the union of meaning and sound in things like In My Craft Or Sullen Art is hard to beat. Reading a poem like The Mermaid’s Purse is like watching Sky Brown skateboarding at the recent Olympics: you keep thinking she’s going to fall, she’s going to fall, and when she doesn’t, that’s what I mean by pretty flawless.