Spring 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 2 A PoemApril 1, 1986 |

Deep Fishing

Poetry is like fishing,If you have six hooksOn a line one hundred feet down What you have to doIs wait for carp to strike,A mystery of no feeling. Haul up every half hour,Often the bright beingsAre there, colorful catch. You are way out in the ocean.Percy is showing you how to fish.In the distance is Egg Rock. Whether strike or no strikeThe ocean remains the same.It is careless of you. The ocean is the seaOf creativity, dark down deep,Memory is the line. A caught fish is a poemFrom the depths. SometimesThey come, sometimes not. The depths have made them virileIn their way. You are fishing,Poetry is possible. Fish die soon,Poetry may live,Ocean of imagination. Percy starts up the motor.If we go by Eagle Island lightWe'll be in by dark. Our boat was full of poemsThat timeless summer daySo long ago.

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.