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At The Fishhouses

Rating: 3.1
Although it is a cold evening,
down by one of the fishhouses
an old man sits netting,
his net, in the gloaming almost invisible,
a dark purple-brown,
and his shuttle worn and polished.
The air smells so strong of codfish
it makes one's nose run and one's eyes water.
The five fishhouses have steeply peaked roofs
and narrow, cleated gangplanks slant up
to storerooms in the gables
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COMMENTS
Edward Kofi Louis 25 March 2016
Absolutely clear! Nice piece of work.
1 0 Reply
Susan Williams 18 December 2015
I have never ever read a more thoroughly faithful description that turned a smelly scene into such awesome discovery of tiny and large beauties. Incredible. Her soul is capable of living a beautiful life in the midst of sights and sounds and smells we would complain about.
20 0 Reply
Michael Morgan 18 December 2015
how this supremely great and perfect poem got a 6.2 is unfathomable.
2 0 Reply
Rajnish Manga 18 December 2015
I loved its wonderful anecdotal imagery and the richness of narrative coupled with the sweetness of words composing an ethereal music. Great work.
0 0 Reply
M Asim Nehal 18 December 2015
If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter, then briny, then surely burn your tongue. It is like what we imagine knowledge to be: dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free, drawn from the cold hard mouth of the world, derived from the rocky breasts forever, flowing and drawn, and since our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.
2 1 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 18 December 2015
Nice piece of work. Amazing poem! Thanks for sharing.
1 0 Reply
Pranab K Chakraborty 18 December 2015
... as if the water were a transmutation of fire that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame. If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter, then briny, then surely burn your tongue....... Magnificent with its fantastic catastrophe.
2 0 Reply
Brian Jani 17 May 2014
Nice one Elizabeth.I like
1 1 Reply
Charles Boyer 21 December 2012
Duh. Speechless. Pretty amazing poem, one of the best ever written by an American. WTF does it mean? She attends to the surfaces of the world with such reverence, and here hints at some sort of transcendence discovered as compensation for her dutifulness, like baptism in the ocean of experience that somehow goes beyond, a knowledge beyond the human but always right there, in the shimmering surface of things. Both transcendent and ephemeral, the circle squared momentarily. That's the best I can do now.
8 3 Reply

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