Madhouse Promenade
2018; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 11; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/thr.2018.0003
ISSN1939-9774
Autores ResumoMadhouse Promenade David Barber (bio) One more time, boys, round the bark, the bark Locked fast in an endlessness of ice, the ice Still on the march where open sea should be, the sea We last saw laid to rest beneath the ice, the ice We’re sick of trekking on, so once more round the bark. One and all now, round the deck, our beaten track Through thick and thin in times like these that rack Seamen’s souls, stopped cold in our dicey race To be there first, fetched up so far from anyplace close It’s anyone’s guess if we’re adrift or aground. Time to work the kinks out, buckos, round and round The half-cracked deck like a lark on the boardwalk Back in your heyday, and this time let’s pick up the pace With a skip in your step, your ship doc’s new trick To bring the spirits of our skeleton crew around. One by one, then arm and arm, the best advice For the shellshock in the unmapped polar wake When you’re in too deep and any mind’s bound To come unwound, a brisk jaunt through the murk For its own bracing sake, roundabout in a trice. One step, two step, round and round, the wreck Our rock, our walkabout, the route that must suffice When it’s dusk round the clock on the unseen sea, the sea Drowned out in the bedlam trample of ice, the pack-ice Keeping us in our place, trooping round and round the bark. [End Page 19] David Barber DAVID BARBER’s forthcoming collection is Secret History. He is poetry editor at The Atlantic and teaches in the Harvard Writing Program. Copyright © 2018 David Barber
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