To a Fisherman

(On watching "La Terra Trema")

(Adda baliwangga iti danum,no dadduma, agnaed pay iti takdang)

There is a whale larger than this hunger
On swampy, windy nights when evil casts its net
To fish the souls from the foaming waves.
The sea roars, tiger-released to devour your heart,
Some big demon, now asleep, now awake
Outpours the cornucupic feast, at times, sulk
Deprive your table with the scabbard fish.
You see now, you’re but a slave
To the tantrums of the lording waves
That rules the dawn between the eagerness
And fear. Some fishers of profit cajole the dawn
Into selling the smelly and wriggling dream.
Back to fix your net cut into curious agony
Juggling the bills you harvest from the cold.

Again into the mouth, the belly of your dignity
Seaward row or sail your rising, falling riches
Salt spray or waves wrecking the moist memory
Lights lusty for the school that lurks
Feeding too among the refuse of the murk
To find the guile of your hopeful trap
Or hook. No fast anchor, your life stands
Shaky and rocking, like some leaf pond-fallen.
Now trashed, now thrust forward and leaping
One agile flyfish romancing the evening
Only to sink into the bowels of the catching net.
Of course, you have your dream, your children’s
In thick blankets that fence away the cold
Away from the eye of gigantic storms.

There is but to dream and fear in the harbor
The lights glittering lit in ghostly venturing
Careful, careful, fisher, the demon maybe awake!