[Image: “Waiting for the Ferryman,” by Jack R. Johanson (click for original). The photographer describes the location, along the Norwegian river Glomma, as “a fine place to wait for the ferryman to take you to the other side.”]
Oddly, whiskey river was very prose-y in the last week. Think I’ll duck down into the archives there, a/k/a whiskey river’s commonplace book, for a poetry selection…
Letter Written on a Ferry
While Crossing Long Island SoundI am surprised to see
that the ocean is still going on.
Now I am going back
and I have ripped my hand
from your hand as I said I would
and I have made it this far
as I said I would
and I am on the top deck now
holding my wallet, my cigarettes
and my car keys
at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday
in August of 1960.Dearest,
although everything has happened,
nothing has happened.
The sea is very old.
The sea is the face of Mary,
without miracles or rage
or unusual hope,
grown rough and wrinkled
with incurable age.Still,
I have eyes.
These are my eyes:
the orange letters that spell
ORIENT on the life preserver
that hangs by my knees;
the cement lifeboat that wears
its dirty canvas coat;
the faded sign that sits on its shelf
saying KEEP OFF.
Oh, all right, I say,
I’ll save myself.Over my right shoulder
I see four nuns
who sit like a bridge club,
their faces poked out
from under their habits,
as good as good babies who
have sunk into their carriages.
Without discrimination
the wind pulls the skirts
of their arms.
Almost undressed,
I see what remains:
that holy wrist,
that ankle,
that chain.
(Anne Sexton; whiskey river includes only the first four stanzas, above, but I think you’ll want to read the whole thing, which you can do here and elsewhere.)
Not from whiskey river:
Ferry Poem
The ferry is late today
Who knows what they’ll tell us today
An engine this time, or a shaft our of line
The ferry is late todayThere’s no room on the ferry today
It’s summer and Sunday today
There are kayaks in heaps, and five lanes of jeeps
There’s no room on the ferry todayThe ferry is elsewhere today
It’s shuffle the docks day today
The Skeena Queen got the Cumberland’s spot
The ferry is elsewhere todayThe ferry is puzzled today
The new schedule is published today
It’s green and it’s sleek, and it’s written in Greek
The ferry is puzzled todayThe ferry won’t be here today
Their contract talks ended today
A clause was misread, now the terminal’s dead
The ferry won’t be here todayThe ferry’s not running today
It’s a south-easter blowing sixty today
And my dog is verboten at the last motel open
The ferry’s not running todayThe ferry is on time today
It’s me who is late today
I’m tired and I’m dirty, and I’ll have to wait till eight thirty
The ferry is on time today
(John Carlton (about whom I’ve been able to learn, like, nothing — except that he’s a poet, possibly in the Tacoma, Washington area; I found the above poem here))
Edit (2018-02-21): The Web never seems to lose its capacity for surprise. The John Carlton who wrote “Ferry Poem” showed up here last night, and left the comment below. As of right now, I know nothing about him but the basic fact(s) he mentions in the comment; a Web search has turned up various references to other “John Carltons,” at least one of whom is a poet (indeed, author of The Poet Laureate of McKaig, Maryland and other Poems) — but his full name is actually John Carlton Hagerhorst. The one “John Carlton” about whom I’ve learned much at all seems to be a curmudgeonly sort of Web-marketing consultant: in a blog post in 2005, he even makes passing reference to his younger days as a self-styled “lost, romantic poet/musician rogue.” If this should turn out to be the same fellow — or if I learn anything more about the John Carlton referenced in this RAMH rumination — I’ll update this post again.
…and:
A river ran through the Underworld. It was as dark as the soil, and lapped at its banks in a slow, oily way.
“Ah, I think I’ve heard of this,” said Roland. “There’s a ferryman, right?”
YES.
He was there, suddenly, standing in a long, low boat. He was all in black, of course in black, with a deep hood that entirely concealed his face and gave a definite feeling that this was just as well.
“Hi, pal,” said Rob Anybody cheerfully. “How’re ye doin’?”
OH NO, NOT YOU PEOPLE AGAIN, said the dark figure in a voice that was not so much heard as felt. I THOUGHT YOU WERE BANNED.
“Just a wee misunderstandin’, ye ken,” said Rob, sliding down Roland’s armor. “Ye have tae let us in, ‘cuz we’s deid already.”
The figure extended an arm. The black robe fell away, and what pointed at Roland looked, to him, very much like a bony finger.
BUT HE MUST PAY THE FERRYMAN, he said accusingly, in a voice of crypts and graveyards.
“Not until I’m on the other side,” Roland said firmly.
“Oh, c’mon!” said Daft Wullie to the ferryman. “Ye can see he’s a Hero! If ye canna trust a Hero, who can ye trust?”
The cowl regarded Roland for what seemed like a hundred years.
OH, VERY WELL THEN.
(Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith)
…finally: the British singer/songwriter Ralph McTell has been kicking around for a long time. His birth name was Ralph May — named after the classical composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, for whom his father had once worked — but he changed it, as an adult, to “McTell” in homage to blues legend Blind Willie McTell. Wikipedia tells us:
As well as tours in his own right, McTell secured a prestigious support slot in 1987 opening the shows on The Everly Brothers’ UK tour. He greatly enjoyed working with Don and Phil who, he admits, were musical heroes of his.
McTell’s end-of-tour gift to himself was Albert, an African Grey Parrot. In years to come, the bird would not only learn to talk but, by mimicking its owner’s cough, would spur McTell to give up the hand-rolled cigarettes he’d smoked all his adult life.
Hold the ferryman off a little longer, eh, Ralph?
Haven’t been able to find the song below — from 1971’s You Well-Meaning Brought Me Here — anywhere in MP3 form. But some kind soul has uploaded it to YouTube, over static images. The song’s based on a passage in Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha: oh yes, that was the early ’70s. (Lyrics below.)
Lyrics:
The Ferryman
(by Ralph McTell)Oh, the traveller moving on the land, behold I give you, I give you the travelling man.
And he’s very heavy laden with the questions in his burden.
Lo, and I give you the travelling man.
He has crossed the mountains, he has forded streams.
He has spent a long time surviving on his dreams.
Many times he’s tried to lighten up his heavy load.
But his compromises fail him and he ends back on the road.Oh the traveller he is weary, the travelling man he is tired.
For the road is never ending in his fear he has cried aloud for a saviour
And in vain for a teacher, someone to lighten up the load
And he’s heard the sounds of war in a gentle shower of rain
And the whisperings of despair that he could not explain.
The reason for his journey, or the reason it began
Or was there any reason for the travelling man.At last he reached a river so beautiful and wide
But the current was so strong he could not reach the other side
And the weary travelling man looked for a ferryman strong enough to row against the tide,
And the ferryman was old but he moved the boat so well,
Or did the river move the boat? The traveller could not tell.
Said the ferryman, “You’re weary and the answers that you seek,
Are in the singing river, listen humbly it will speak.”Oh, the traveller closed his eyes and he listened and he heard
Only the river murmuring and the beating of his heart.
Then he heard the river laughing, and he heard the river crying
And in it was the beauty and the sadness of the world
And he heard the sounds of dying, but he heard the sounds of birth
And slowly his ears heard all the sounds of earth.
The sounds blended together and they became a whole
And the rhythm was his heartbeat to the music in his soul.And the river had no beginning, as it flowed into the sea
And the seas filled the clouds and the rains filled the streams
And as slowly as the sunrise, he opened up his eyes
To find the ferryman had gone, the boat moved gently on the tide.
And the river flowed within him, and with it he was one
And the seas moved around the earth, and the earth around the sun.
And the traveller was the river, was the boat and ferryman,
Was the journey and the song that the singing river sang.
Froog says
I only know Siddhartha from the film version. As I recall, the wisdom the The Ferryman, who recognises Siddhartha when he sees him for a second time, decades after their first encounter, is this: “Everything returns, but nothing is ever the same.
It’s one of those films that’s lingered with me since a single art-house viewing early in my undergraduate days. I’d really like to see it again, but it’s quite a rarity; I’m not sure that it’s ever been released on DVD, or video for that matter.
John says
Froog: Gosh, I’d forgotten there’d been a film version (which I haven’t seen)! Turns out the cinematographer was Sven Nykvist (one of those “other names” to keep an eye out for in the credits of any movie) — and yes, it came out on DVD in 2002. Originally released in 1972.
Roger Ebert’s review said, “Conrad Rooks’ ‘Siddhartha’ is a film of great grace and beauty, but somehow it failed to move me. I was expecting to emerge from the theater in a sort of mild metaphysical glow; instead, I felt like seeing another movie.” Like other critics, apparently, he loved the cinematography — but (again, like many others) didn’t think the images good enough to support the rest of the film.
Hmm. Might be worth a Netflix rental — thanks!
Tessa says
Thanks, John, for the Ralph McTell tour down memory lane. I loved his songs, back in my folkie-morphing-to-weekend-dropout-hippie days! Although he was best-known for his “Streets of London,” he was an excellent all-round folksinger. I see from WikiPedia that he’s still going strong.
PS: Love the Anne Sexton poem, too.
DarcKnyt says
Why am I the only one hearing Chris DeBurgh in my head broughing “Don’t Pay the Ferryman”? Must be my age.
Or my feeble wee brain.
One of the two. ;)
Happy Easter, should I not exchange pixels with you before, John.
Froog says
On the BBC in the 1970s, there was for a while a vogue for commissioning melodramatic mini-series with ‘Greek’ themes – filmed (most unusually for that time) on location. I think the first of these was The Lotus Eaters; then The Aphrodite Inheritance (excruciatingly dire, but it had the gorgeous Alexandra Bastedo in it); and then one called Who Pays The Ferryman? The latter was chiefly memorable for its theme music by Yannis Markopolous, which can listen to on YouTube here. There’s quite a rousing stomp to it, and the arrangement – heavy on fiddle and drum – always sounded rather more Irish than Greek to me. Good fun. (Apparently all of these shows were written by one Michael J. Bird, who still enjoys a cult following amongst many Brits of my age.)
The Lotus Eaters had a much more Greek-sounding theme, though, all bouzoukis. Can’t find it online. Damn.
John says
Tessa: Leave it to you to have a history with Ralph McTell! “Streets of London” is something else; I must’ve listened to 4 or 5 versions of it while working on this post. (Finally gave up and bought the Best of Ralph McTell album of 30+ songs — which doesn’t include “The Ferryman”!)
Darc: I came real close to using a video of DeBurgh singing that, instead of the Ralph McTell song I did use. Since you mention it, though….
It may be of interest to certain Dr. Who fans that the “hooded old man at the rudder” in this video is widely rumored to have been played by Tom Baker, the fourth Doctor. Everyone actually involved in this rumor denies it but, as Wikipedia says, “the rumour persists.”
Froog: As with the de Burgh song which DarcKnyt mentioned above, I thought of referring to Who Pays The Ferryman? in this post — although I’d never heard of the show before, it kept cropping up in Google searches.
I’m sure you know that Ian Hendry, who starred in The Lotus Eaters, had already appeared as John Steed’s first partner in the very early Avengers episodes? (We could do much worse than to circle back, and back, to The Avengers.)
Nance says
Oh, lord. I read this and find I must make a phone call to someone right away, someone I shouldn’t call because it’s been too many decades.
A glance down your “pantheon” gathers in so many of my favorites: Annie Dillard, Alan Watts, James Thurber, E.B. White, Kurt Vonnegut. And I can put off the phone call no longer.
John says
Nance: Thank you for that… intriguing comment. If you placed the phone call and reached the party in question, I hope it went well!
John Carlton says
John Carlton is actually a retired naval Architect who used to live in Western Canada. He has now returned to live in his native Australia.
I know this because I am he.
John says
Mr. Carlton: color me gobsmacked… thank you so much for letting me know! I’ll add a note about this to the blog post.
The site where I found your poem is still up, although not evidently updated in a long while. As you probably saw, though, the specific page where I found it is now gone. Do you have any connection to the “Rocklin family” which the site was built for?
…and as you also may have seen, “Ferry Poem” seems to be nowhere else on the Web at the moment. Is it all right that it shows up here?
Of course, I thought (think) the poem was (is) a delight; that I put it in the company of Anne Sexton, Terry Pratchett, and Ralph McTell says much about my regard for “Ferry Poem.” Even if you’d prefer that I remove it (in which case I will do so, naturally), it still feels right at home here — one of those surprising little gems which the Web tosses our way from time to time. Thanks so much for contributing it, however unlikely the circumstances!