The Drowning of Ariel
I
When the squall struck he danced with glee
Believing himself kith of the old sea rover
Sharing his nemesis; the sea
Caught unaware by the swell Ariel heeled over
Dipped her gunnels deep, swigged a raver's
Draught of sweet brine, flung up her slender
Prow, sat back on her stern, and foundered
He lay motionless in the water, his clothes
Ballooning about him pulling him down, down
But Keats’ book in his coat pocket rose
Like a dolphin, sang out in his dead friend's own
Voice and summoned its fellows to rescue drowning
Shelley. At the last they came. Arching in a long file
over the waves and carried him away to Sappho's isle.
On the beach a dead thing. Bloated, amorphous
Hung about with bladderwrack. A sodden coat
Rucked and wrinkled about it. Blubberous
Sea-changed. Mute.
They sent him skywards in a warrior's boat
Piled iron and stout timbers about his pyre
And on the flames flung frankincense, saltpetre and myrrh
II
Seeking an entry point at this Northern shore
I kneel in supplication and submit to your embrace
Womb of life. I knock on the half open door
at the unknown edge where wind tears off my face
Where the wind sings out directions in a high voice
Buoy me up, cleanse me in body and spirit
My brave craft, my pilot
Shelley was a bold seafarer, who did not fear
The awful shadow of the unseen power
In the dizzy ravine or on the rugged glacier
He rang like the plucked strings of the Aoelian lyre
As the blue flame flows over a coal on fire
His spirit moved with the ever changing melody
Which charges this various world with beauty
Even now when I hear his wondrous song
Ring out from the still cave of the witch Poesy
My eyes water and the short hairs rise along
The nape of my neck, as though I were tipsy
With some intoxicant or transported to a windy
Shore where our human souls converse
With the awful power of the universe
Do not mourn Shelley in the winter storm
When a chill wind rushes down the icy reach
Remember him in the radiant dawn
When the sun caresses the silent beach
And in the fields the Skylark's song, is speech
Too potent for a human pen
Remember Shelley and he lives again.
III
As I stroke into the waves, my shoulder muscles
Burn with a cold flame. The current pushes
Me hard towards the river mouth. Tired corpuscles
Force short breaths. The sea, cold and muddy, rushes
my eyes and mouth. I sing out the snatches
of Keats I remember and wait in vain for dolphins
Then tumble onto the shingle, and bruise my shins
Jeremy Solnick – January 2011