My Valparaiso
Or, The Fish
. . . . . . . .—for Carlos, Camila, Claudia & Ryan at the Neruda house, Valparaiso, Chile
This Pacific could not be bluer
if we waved a wand, or
this snail’s shell more green
or more certain of its greenness.
This stair could not labor so sensibly
up the hill of the poet’s dream
or these windows carry us
farther to paradise.
A minute here passes
like the cargo ships on the bay,
eternally, at ease, like the cat
licking itself in strong sunlight
on the funky garden bench.
I am caught by it, a fish in time,
surprised by the hook, the sharp,
startling wound of happiness.
by Clark Holtzman
Editor’s Note: This poem calls to mind the intense imagery of Jack Gilbert’s work—emotion is a tricky narrative to tread, but the close of this poem steps carefully and well.
Terrific, and perfect, last image!
LikeLike
Many thanks. I am only just discovering that the poem was published here . . . after all this time! Looks like the editors’ hiatus is well-deserved. They must have been swamped.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Gorgeous!
LikeLike
That would be about the right word for the view from Neruda’s house.
LikeLike
Beautiful! I know what you’re describing, and you do so exquisitely.
LikeLike
Have you visited the Neruda house in Valparaiso? I have been fortunate to visit all three of his residences.
LikeLike