jellyfish

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Samuel Coleridge, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”

there always were some. but that morning
the water seemed thicker, almost hard
around the boat. stuck in the sea
the rudder choked. we men
were much afraid. that evening the beach
and front were crowded with strange people.

"like little bells," except that people
wouldn't hear, cried the man next morning –
he'd built himself a pulpit on the beach.
still half-asleep in bed we heard
him rail at the wind, intone amen
as if on bended knee. to that unyielding sea.

as if between this beach and the bering sea
ours was the only village, more people
poured in every day: muscle-men
and prima donnas, stalls, "mr morning
and his noted cup of tea," a horde
of staggering drunks across the beach

from east to west. only when the beach
became a mass of jelly and the sea
merged with the land, did that herd
retreat behind the authorities' fence. people
no longer spoke of spirits, the morning
come of judgement day, foulest omen.

when do exceptions become the rule? men
reeking of drink, unshaven priests, botch-
work, holes in clothes. whether morning
or evening, nobody cared. did we see
our children's forlorn faces? were the people
blind? when it chimed thirteen, nobody heard.

a boy piped up but not one of us heard –
for how could it be true? then two men
confirmed the news; soon all our people
had it on their lips. beyond the beach,
as if nothing had happened, lay the sea –
the incoming waves. the very next morning

women returned to the hearth, all morning
people banged pots, cleaned. and on the beach
we men stood in silence, gazing out to sea.

Jan Wagner
translated by Iain Galbraith