FathomOnline

 

 Fathom 1981

Cover

 

Inside Cover

 

Poetry

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

Prose

Paul Tyndall
Alexina Scott-Savage

Extras

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Larry Gaudet

 

 

Aquatraz

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