by Ruth Moore from Cold as a Dog and the Wind Northeast (1958)
Listen to Gordon Bok read this poem at
"Charley had a herring-weir
Down to Bailey's Bight;
Got up to tend it, in
The middle of the night.
Late October,
Midnight black as tar;
Nothing out the window but
A big cold star;
House like a cemetery;
Kitchen fire dead.
"I'm damn good mind," said Charley,
“To go back to bed.
“A man who runs a herring-weir,
Even on the side,
Is nothing but a slave to
The God damned tide."
Well, a man feels meager.
A man feels old,
In pitch-black midnight,
Lonesome and cold.
Chills in his stomach like
Forty thousand mice,
And the very buttons on his pants,
Little lumps of ice.
Times he gets to feeling
It's no damn use;
So Charley had a pitcherful
In his orange juice.
Then he felt better
Than he had before;
So he had another pitcherful
To last him to the shore.
Down by the beach-rocks,
Underneath a tree,
Charley saw something
He never thought he’d see;
Sparkling in the lantern light
As he went to pass,
Three big diamonds
In the frosty grass.
"H’m," he said. "Di’monds.
Where'd they come from?
I'll pick them up later on.
Always wanted some."
Then he hauled in his dory--
She felt light as air--
And in the dark midnight
Rowed off to tend weir.
Out by the weir-gate
Charley found
An old sea serpent
Swimming round and round,
Head like a washtub;
Whiskers like thatch;
Breath like the flame on
A Portland Star match.
Black in the lantern light,
Up he rose,
A great big barnacle
On the end of his nose;
Looked Charley over,
Surly and cross.
"Them fish you’ve got shut up in there,
Belongs to my boss."
"Fish?" says Charley.
"Fish? In there?
Why, I ain't caught a fish
Since I built the damned weir."
"Well," says the sea serpent,
"Nevertheless,
There's ten thousand bushels
At a rough guess."
Charley moved the lantern
Gave his oars a pull,
And he saw that the weir was
Brim-belay full.
Fish rising out of water
A trillion at a time
And the side of each and every one
Was like a silver dime.
"Well," says the sea serpent,
"What you going to do?
They're uncomfortable,
And they don't belong to you;
“So, open this contraption
Up and let ’em go.
Come on, shake the lead out.
The boss says so."
"Does?" says Charley.
"Who in hell is he,
Thinks he can set back
And send word to me?"
Sea serpent swivelled round
Made a waterspout.
"Keep on brother,
And you'll find out."
"Why," Charley says, "You're nothing
But a lie so old you're hoary;
So take your dirty whiskers
Off the gunnel o' my dory!"
Sea serpent twizzled,
Heaved underneath,
Skun back a set of
Sharp yellow teeth,
Came at Charley
With a gurgly roar,
And Charley let him have it
With the port-side oar.
Right on the noggin;
Hell of a knock,
And the old sea serpent
Sank like a rock.
"So, go on back," yells Charley,
“And tell the old jerk,
Not to send a boy
To do a man's work."
Then over by the weir-gate,
Tinkly and clear.
A pretty little voice says,
"Yoo-hoo, Charley, dear!"
"Now what?" says Charley.
"This ain't funny."
And the same sweet voice says,
"Yoo-hoo, Charley, honey."
And there on a seine-pole
Right in the weir,
Was a little green mermaid,
Combing out her hair.
"All right," says Charley.
"I see you.
And I know who you come from.
So you git, too!”
He let fly the bailing-scoop,
It landed with a clunk,
And when the water settled,
The mermaid, she had sunk.
Then the ocean moved behind him,
With a mighty heave and hiss,
And a thundery, rumbly voice remarked,
"I’m Goddamn sick of this!"
And up come an old man,
White from top to toe,
Whiter than a daisy field,
Whiter than the snow;
Carrying a pitchfork
With three tines on it,
Muttering in his whiskers,
And madder than a hornet.
"My sea serpent is so lame
That he can hardly stir,
And my best mermaid,
you’ve raised a lump on her;
“And you've been pretty sarsy
calling me a jerk;
So, now the Old Man has come
To do a man's work."
"Look," says Charley,
"Why don't you leave me be?
You may be the hoary Old
Man of the Sea,
But, I've got a run of fish here,
Shut up inside,
And if you keep on frigging round
You'll make me lose the tide."
The next thing that Charley knew,
He was lying on the sand;
The painter of his dory
Was right beside his hand.
He could see across the bay,
Calm and still and wide;
It was full daylight;
And it was high tide.
"H’m," said Charley.
"What am I about?"
The oars weren't wet, so
He hadn't been out.
"Oh," he thought. "Di’monds,
Underneath the tree.
Seems to me I found some.
I'd better go see."
But he couldn't find any;
Not one gem;
Only three little owl-dungs
With the frost on them."
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