Swans Swimming
You swim so much better than I:
one length of the pool, then two
and your grace in the water is fluid,
like a swan’s. I think of white feathers,
dark feet paddling under water.
Swans follow the ferry as it crosses
the River Stour. Yellow bills, sharp
over the side of the boat, stretch
for the dry crusts the ferryman
keeps in a plastic bag by the engine.
When he smiles at you, my stomach
tightens. When he nods, you break
bread, pinch it tight in rigid fingers,
and offer it to the swans. Round, black
buttons of eyes judge the exact distance.
Can these sleek, folded wings really
break an arm or a leg? Serrated edges
on wicked bills make short work
of stale bread even if it is iron hard.
After a little while, the pool’s chlorine
stings our eyes. Swimming side by side,
our eye-lids tightly closed, we dream
our way across the pool. Ten lengths,
twenty: our world is a watery vision
of a weekend package deal: paradise
for two. Your body above me now,
locked together in an ancient dance,
Leda and the Swan performed to perfection.
rogermoorepoet 
Beautiful Roger. I like Leda and the Swan.
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Thank you, Mr. Cake. Leda and the Swan — Surrealist or Existentialist? I am reading Sarah Bakewell: At the Existentialist café, one of my presents to myself. So glad you like it. It is so deceptively simple.
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You are never simple Roger.
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I would always be Surrealist, not a lot of time for Sartre
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I started with Existentialism, but via Camus, rather than Sartre. Met Phenomenology in grad school and rather joined the two to make a sort of blend between a phenomenological existentialist and an existential phenomenologist. Now that is Surreal, especially when you apply it to Discourse Analysis and Chaos Theory!
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I think because the Existentialists supplanted the Surrealists I always had a problem. I like Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, I find Heidegger unreadable and though No Exit is great fun never took to Sartre, especially after reading nausea and the contempt he has for auto-didacts. Camus The Rebel has a long chapter on Surrealism but doesn’t really take them seriously.
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I tend to simplify Existentialism to my own choices, for they are the most important ones for me. As for Surrealism, for me it is the quarry in which I dig. The precious stones must then be carved and shaped and polished until they fit the artistic vision that emanates from them. This too is very personal. Art, for me, operates at the level of the individual and what s/he knows. Great art then spreads out to the more universal that others can also appreciate. This is, of course, an ideal to which I aspire.
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I like that/ the quarry where you dig.
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It was also Octavio Paz’s view, if I have interpreted him correctly.
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I believe you have
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You really capture the grace of the animal with this piece
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Thank you for visiting and commenting. It began as a love poem to my wife who fed the swans as we crossed the Stour from Wick to Christchurch. Alas, the ferry burned down a long time ago and was never replaced. The swans are still there. So many delightful memories.
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Perfect and elegant
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Thank you for visiting and commenting. So glad you liked it.
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No problem…anytime..especially on such a good piece like this
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Now those words deserve a double thank you, thank you!
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Swans are something aren’t they? So graceful … but don’t mess with them!
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They look so beautiful: but, yes, they can be very dangerous, especially when nesting in the wild.
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