Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE OLD CONSERVATIVE, by LEWIS FRANK TOOKER First Line: I saw the old man pause, then turn his head Last Line: "for motors and joy-riders! All it's worth." Subject(s): Sailing & Sailors; Sea; Ships & Shipping; Ocean | ||||||||
I saw the old man pause, then turn his head, Stumbling a little as with vertigo, His lips pursed out, his squally, red-rimmed eyes Sweeping the wide periphery of the bay. Dumb with unspeakable thoughts, at last he turned And, with an angry flirt of his thick stick, Growled, "Ar-r-r!" and, clumping, hobbled out of sight. Beyond a doubt, I read his very thought: "Here once I saw proud clipper-ships, bound in From Java Head and up around the Horn, Brail up their tripping skirts like dainty maids. I heard the hawse-pipes roar, and saw the ships Turn noses to the wind like hunting dogs Still eager for the chase, though once more home. Brown men swarmed on the foot-ropes; 'Harbor furl!' Mates roared from decks; and shanty-men, perched high Upon the knight-heads, to the click of pawls Lined out their shanties for the singing crews. I had no need of house-flags then to know Each slender beauty as she opened out Beyond the slope of Bay Ridge like a cloud. I knew them all, the temperamental dears, Each meeting trouble in her own sweet way; One springing up the tall seas with a laugh, One burrowing in pillows of white foam, Like any other sulky, crying girl, But human, mind you. There in quiet docks Tall ships drove jib-booms far above the street Where brown-faced sailors stood about in groups And talked of brawls and mates, but most of girls -- Of slim, dark girls who poled the bum-boats down The river at Manila in the dawn; Or others that in crowded Singapore Laughed from black doorways, but wore daggers, too. South Street was like a foreign market then, Where sailormen hawked parrots from Brazil, And Malay creeses, rolls of China silk, And full-rigged ships in bottles, curious things; Or, grouped about the apple-women's carts, They bought broadsides of sentimental songs, And proudly bragged of things no one believed. And sometimes through the huddled throng would stalk, In black broadcloth and high silk stocks, grim men With cold, unseeing eyes -- masters of ships Who might have had a knife between the ribs But for that something, majesty or law, That hedged them in. And mostly good men, too. But give a dog a bad name -- well, you know. The street's half gutter now, and desolate, With all that good salt water flooding past Without a sail. For see our harbor now! There goes a liner, just a huge cafe, With dancing girls, and officers in white, And dock-rat crews of pantry-serving boys, And not a soul of all on board who knows A quarter gasket from the futtock-shrouds; And there a hog-backed tramp, listed to port, Slobbered with iron-rust and ashy grit, And smearing God's own blue with her foul smoke; There a tin wagon run by gasoline. Oh, why not play one vast joke on the Flood -- And dump old Ararat into the sea, And make the 'vasty deep' a boulevard For motors and joy-riders! All it's worth." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HALL OF OCEAN LIFE by JOHN HOLLANDER JULY FOURTH BY THE OCEAN by ROBINSON JEFFERS BOATS IN A FOG by ROBINSON JEFFERS CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE FIGUREHEAD by LEONIE ADAMS |
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