Fathom 1981



Inside Cover



John Bell (2)
Nancy Leslie (2)
Elissa Barnard
Larry Gaudet (2)
H. M. Westin
E. J. Mundell
H. M.
Margot Griffiths (2)


Paul Tyndall
Alexina Scott-Savage




Larry Gaudet




There is a shoal, Shark’s Grove,
Which is one mile off the coast;
It was seagull haunted, dotted
With droppings, and restless in the sea-spray.

But underneath the spouting, salty fountains
Lay Aquatraz, an amniotic cellblock
For mysterious prisoners of the
Liquid, mystic blue-green.

The rising phosphoric moon, porthole
To an invisible ship, lit an oil-smooth passage
From horizon to the clustered rocks. And the water moved,
Slipping through this beam of lunar spot light; And those
Who tossed stones from the seaside cliffs were quiet
As the waves stopped in their minds.

If the tides no longer pulled
Those on the cape with well-aimed tripods.
They still sought the Kodak-calmness of postcard prints.

Focus: (Sometimes. in the wind. the moon is a sponge ball
                Ricocheting off cement clouds; And
                Inertia asks, what is inert?
                The moon or the clouds?)
The hue of cool darkness bid
For a theatrical entrance of the stars; Space
Diamonds shone from light-years away, forming
Pendants in our familiar constellations.

Click. And they’ve captured the ebony hump
                Gliding on a rested sea, a ghostly Titanic
In the black velvet night.
(O, you are still hidden in the dark unfathomable, Aquatraz)

Trick photography is a matter of
Lenses and shutter speeds; For most a
Nikon is the icon. But come with me,
To a buried world, (seen only in the negative,
Precious Aquatraz) where some have ventured
To serve their time.


After the Photos

  (The Convalescence Is Over)

I sat with camera in lap, a napping
Wheelchair figure wearing trenchcoat and
Sunglasses by the pool, a regular amidst
The lawns and nurses at the clinic.

Maybe the smell of chlorine-green influenced my
Dreams, for I woke from my coma in a visionary
Stupor. I saw myself in Aquatraz, the Undersea
Prison. I faced a full-length mirror, coiled
In a fencer’s crouch, foiling the
Reflection, duelling for images.

I gave the asylum back their video-cassettes, and
Gracefully bowed goodbye to the
Attending physicians; it was time to don
Black suit and scuba gear, wave goodbye
To the helicopter pilot, and leap into the sea.


last updated August 17, 2007 | © 2007 Fathom Publishing
poetry, prose, and artwork © individual authours | website created by Alana Paul