Hey don’t sweat it so much, something will
Appear when you least expect it to so stay
Real drunk on water like Rodin’s Balzac
Statue if that’s what it takes from you.
Walk on land, contemplate water, and
If you end up on the beach scavenging
For sardine tins, you will have joined the
First Christians.
They who were played for dead
Just like you and me.
– Two on the beach in Rogers Park, Chicago, one speaking, 2013
Saragun Springs 
DWB
This captures a poetic moment in living; in interacting and advising. Oddly, as I see it, living involves mostly un-poetic activities that can add up to something more, especially if the wages are short.
The comparison to the original Christians is perfect, yet being cynical, I wonder if maybe that point was oversold by the wealthy. I wonder if that is still the case today.
Thank you for this–
Leila
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Hi Leila
THANK YOU for publishing (rescuing) this 12-year-old poem from dusty obscurity.
The Drifter’s column for Sunday talks about the sincerity and lack of sincerity of poetry that comes through a mask (or a persona) in light of this poem’s companion piece, which is called “Oklahoma Homeless 2015.” Sincerity being one of those wonderful words that can mean many different things, like a kaleidoscope. After all, Oscar Wilde said, “All bad poetry is sincere.”
The rhymes in this poem are the key that holds it all together, I think. (Or the thing that creates the necessary unity of a poem.)
Thanks again! with a very sincerely felt exclamation point/s!
Dale
(“Whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent.” – Wittgenstein)
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The thought that came to mind when I read this was how – often when facing real adversity – decent humans will still offer hope and help to another. That was a warm thought so thank you – dd
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Hi Diane
The mini-drama of this poem is meant to offer some sort of realistic consolation to the Reader. Thanks for letting me know that the two characters in the poem are able to do this even though only one of them is trying to at the moment!
Dale
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I’ve just copied this poem out by hand – something I do when I intend to ‘live’ with a poem – & this poem will doubtless be learned by heart, rather than merely committed to memory. Those lines about the beach, the scavenging, those sardine tins, those First Christians . . . It’s the aftereffects of such lines make them poetry. This is ‘Christian’ as Blake would’ve understood it, as RS Thomas would know it. Magnificent, Dale.
Geraint
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Geraint
No poet could hope for a better response to his or her work than this. Indeed, it simultaneously makes me breathe a sigh of relief to know you’ve understood the poem so well, a sigh of relief matched only by the joy in knowing that the poem is in such great readerly hands as yours. And your generosity in reaching out and letting me know all the above is simply awesome. I was in a downhearted funk before I read your comment last night; the reading of your comment instantaneously put me in a good mood. Thank you!
Stay tuned this Sunday (or whenever you can) as this poem’s companion piece appears.
This Sunday’s “Drifter” column introduces and explicates (among other things) the poem called “Oklahoma Homeless 2015.” There will also be new things in the column about Baudelaire and Jim Morrison.
Thanks again, at every level of art there is…
Dale
PS
Your comment about the “aftereffects” of lines that make them poetry is beyond brilliant (in general I mean, not just referring to mine)…
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