Tuesday 13 August 2013

Where water comes together with other water

Wairau River, Marlborough, New Zealand.
I love creeks and the music they make. And rills, in glades and meadows, before they have a chance to become creeks. I may even love them best of all for their secrecy. 

I almost forgot to say something about the source! Can anything be more wonderful than a spring? But the big streams have my heart too. And the places streams flow into rivers. The open mouths of rivers where they join the sea. The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places. 

But these coastal rivers! I love them the way some men love horses or glamorous women. I have a thing for this cold swift water. Just looking at it makes my blood run and my skin tingle. I could sit and watch these rivers for hours. Not one of them like any other.

Sometimes when I read poems (not that I read many), I can't help but read them in my head with an almost sing-song limerick style, like there's an Irish jig playing in the background somewhere. I suspect childhood poems are responsible for this. I can seldom bring myself to read any poem that rhymes.

The photo above is mine, but the words in italics are not. I've reproduced most of Raymond Carver's poem where water comes together with other water without its original poetic breaking-up-of-lines as a way of turning down the volume on the jig.

The full poem in its original form can be found here.