A man spends his whole life fishing in himself
for something grand. It's like some lost lunker, big enough
to break all records. But he's only heard rumors, myths,
vague promises of wonder. He's only felt the shadow
of something enormous darken his life. Or has he?
Maybe it's the shadow of other fish, greater than his,
the shadow of other men's souls passing over him.
Each day he grabs his gear and makes his way
to the ocean. At least he's sure of that; or is he? Is it the ocean
or the little puddle of his tears? Is this his dinghy
or the frayed boards of his ego, scoured by a storm?
He shoves off, feeling the land fall away under his boots.
Soon he's drifting under clouds, wind whispering blandishments
in his ears. It could be today: the water heaves
and settles like a chest....He's not far out.
It's all so pleasant, so comforting—the sunlight,
the waves. He'll go back soon, thinking: "Maybe tonight."
Night with its concealments, its shadow masking all other shadows.
Night with its privacies, its alluringly distant stars.
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Spring Feature 2014
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Feature
- Kurt Brown A Photo Tribute
- Kurt Brown Excerpts from his "Notebook"
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Poetry
- Laure-Anne Bosselaar
- Lee Briccetti
- Wyn Cooper
- Stephen Dunn
- Richard Garcia
- Janlori Goldman
- Andrey Gritsman
- Kamiko Hahn
- Steve Huff
- Meg Kearney
- Eugenia Leigh
- Thomas Lux
- Laura McCullough
- Christopher Merrill
- Kamilah Aisha Moon
- Martha Rhodes
- David Rothman
- Harold Schechter
- Charles Simic
- Tree Swenson
- Charles Harper Webb
- Marty Williams
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Essay
- David RigsbeeOn Kurt Brown, An Appreciation
Feature > Poetry
This is a haunting and original poem, one in which a man spends his whole life fishing in himself for something extraordinary. I like how Kurt takes that initial premise and expands it, so it becomes so much more, a poem about trying to find one’s soul and instead finding something vaster than himself that turns out to be his own death.