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Gasoline and brackish water sloshes in the bottom of the battered aluminum boat lodged in the sands. Metal grinds against rock and pebbles as I push out the prow and jump into its awkward angle. At night, the lake is more a sound than a visible place, the growling outboard cancels out the lapping of waves. I shine a flashlight on the bank for navigation, illuminating the rocky white shoreline and the sudden voids of the sloughs until we come to the one our trot line line is stretched across.
We find the bleach jug that marks the beginning of our line, it’s my job to grab it, then point the light as my father lifts the line out of the dark waters, dripping with slime from the lake bottom. At first he holds it like a telegraph wire as the boat drifts in a dark orbit, feeling for the deep tug that would signal a catch. Then the slow hand over hand revelation of the treble hooks nibbled clean and bright. For each, another blood red ball of stink bait is molded on and gently lowered back into the green depths as I follow the work of his hands with the light. A few more empty hooks and then a struggling catfish appears, to be taken into a net.
The sound of the hook being torn out of its mouth makes me wince, but I have to aim the light and be a witness. The catch is tossed the floor of the boat where it gasps and flops about in the shadows. At the end of the line, my father gently lets go and I fill a bucket and my father carefully grasps the fish around the neck like a snake. Catfish fins are poison needles. I bless the moment when the fish is returned to its element.
The outboard sputters back to its belching life to carry us away from the night to where our cinder block cabin sleeps. Tomorrow, before dawn, we will repeat our trip, then the day will be mine, to explore the crumbling cliffs, mountain laurel and cedar, to chart my dreams, so far and wide and away from this, my childhood’s coast.
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.
Hi TqB.
I like the subject, and the simple/plain language which suits it. I think you lose that simplicity in a couple of places and the poem suffers for it. Good title, but terrible ending 
Gasoline and brackish water
slosh es in the black bottom of the battered ....... 'black' over does the alliteration, and seems unnecessary given the rest of the poem.
aluminum boat lodged in the sands.
We push off to check the trot lines.
It’s At night, the lake 's more a sound of lapping waves
than a visible place, but the outboard
cancels that reassuring sound. ........................... seems poorly phrased
I hold a light on the bank for navigation ........... given how many 'holds' you have, why not 'aim a light'?
and we move along the rocky shores ................ you could probably cut this line
cross open sloughs until we come
to the one our line is stretched across.
We find the buoy jug that holds it up,
it’s my job to grab it, then hold the light
as my father lifts the slime laden line ............. 'laden' is a bit dull, even 'think' might be better (sonically) Also, 'hauls' for 'lifts'?
out of the dark waters.
First he would hold it like a telegraph, ......... don't think this quite works, how does one hold a telegraph? (and fourth use of 'hold')
feeling for a deep tug
that would foretell our harvest. ....................'foretell' is from a different poem, likewise 'harvest'. Surely it's a catch?
Then the slow hand over hand revelation ...'revelation', on the other hand is very nice. (Of course, you might have had 'discovery')
of the hooks nibbled clean and bright.
........... I think you need a bit more detail here, was the father disappointed or sanguine, for instance? And if you start something with 'first' then I think you need a bit more than three examples.
For each, another blood red ball of stink bait
is molded on and gently lowered back into the green depths. .... how 'green' ? Is there more light now?
And what does the 'stink bait' feel like as you mold it on? Should 'mold' be 'formed around each hook'?
Tonight an empty line, and the outboard
sputters back to its belching life
to carry us out of night’s equal void
to where our cinder block cabin waits. .......... I think you could switch the order here, something like
the outboard sputters back to life
Tonight, our lines were empty.
What were you trying to catch?
Best, Knot
.
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Hi TqB - I think this would be a good prose poem. A prose poem has a reverie like quality about it with lots of sensory images, which this one has, but its natural pauses are at the ends of full sentences.
The line breaks are more of a distraction here IMO. I read it end to end ignoring the line breaks and it went better.
Example of where the jamb doesn’t work but the Lines in themselves are fine:
I hold a light on the bank for navigation
and we move along the rocky shores
cross open sloughs until we come
to the one our line is stretched across.
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09-16-2021, 07:43 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-16-2021, 07:45 AM by TranquillityBase.)
(09-16-2021, 12:08 AM)Knot Wrote: .
Hi TqB.
I like the subject, and the simple/plain language which suits it. I think you lose that simplicity in a couple of places and the poem suffers for it. Good title, but terrible ending a red letter day (you like the title); I agree the ending sucks.
Gasoline and brackish water
sloshes in the black bottom of the battered ....... 'black' over does the alliteration, and seems unnecessary given the rest of the poem. Yep
aluminum boat lodged in the sands.
We push off to check the trot lines.
It’s At night, the lake's more a sound of lapping waves like this cut
than a visible place, but the outboard
cancels that reassuring sound. ........................... seems poorly phrased
I hold a light on the bank for navigation ........... given how many 'holds' you have, why not 'aim a light'?
and we move along the rocky shores ................ you could probably cut this line
cross open sloughs until we come
to the one our line is stretched across.
We find the buoy jug that holds it up,
it’s my job to grab it, then hold the light
as my father lifts the slime laden line ............. 'laden' is a bit dull, even 'think' might be better (sonically) Also, 'hauls' for 'lifts'? I'll work on that slime
out of the dark waters.
First he would hold it like a telegraph, ......... don't think this quite works, how does one hold a telegraph? (and fourth use of 'hold') I see your point(s)
feeling for a deep tug
that would foretell our harvest. ....................'foretell' is from a different poem, likewise 'harvest'. Surely it's a catch? This kind of fishing always seemed more like work
Then the slow hand over hand revelation ...'revelation', on the other hand is very nice. (Of course, you might have had 'discovery')
of the hooks nibbled clean and bright.
........... I think you need a bit more detail here, was the father disappointed or sanguine, for instance? And if you start something with 'first' then I think you need a bit more than three examples. Mostly he scolded me for not keeping the light on the line 
For each, another blood red ball of stink bait
is molded on and gently lowered back into the green depths. .... how 'green' ? Is there more light now?
And what does the 'stink bait' feel like as you mold it on? Should 'mold' be 'formed around each hook'? O the stories I could tell about Catfish Charlie's Stinkbait.
Tonight an empty line, and the outboard
sputters back to its belching life
to carry us out of night’s equal void
to where our cinder block cabin waits. .......... I think you could switch the order here, something like
the outboard sputters back to life
Tonight, our lines were empty.
What were you trying to catch? Catfish. The trotline is wieghted to lay as close to the bottom as possible where the catfish roam.
Best, Knot
.
(09-16-2021, 06:12 AM)busker Wrote: Hi TqB - I think this would be a good prose poem. A prose poem has a reverie like quality about it with lots of sensory images, which this one has, but its natural pauses are at the ends of full sentences.
The line breaks are more of a distraction here IMO. I read it end to end ignoring the line breaks and it went better.
Thanks Busker. I think you have something there. I'm going to try it both ways and see how it plays out.
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(09-16-2021, 07:43 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: O the stories I could tell about Catfish Charlie's Stinkbait. Perhaps you could find space for a small one in this piece?
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I rewrote this as, maybe, a prose poem, taking Knot's suggestions into account in the process, and hopefully providing a more interesting ending.
I've never understood the dividing line (if there is one, and I personally suspect there is not) between poetry and prose. But I did enjoy the freedom that this approach gave me.
TqB
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.
Hi TqB,
I like this version (whether it's prose or poetry, no idea) but it feels like there's quite a lot missing, or still to be written, whichever you prefer Maybe include a detail about launching the boat, I imagine that has a particular/distinctive sound when dragged across the sands?
The 'telegraph' idea still isn't working. I think the comparison with any other fishing line might be better.
Given 'the sound of the hook ...' I don't think you need the editorial 'struggling against the cruel hook' (are they 'hooks' or 'barbs'?)
The last six lines (though better) are ... lacking. 'bless the moment' seems to come out of nowhere, and 'tomorrow ... the day will be mine' begs the question, what will this day be? I'm confused on the timing here, I think. ('chart my dreams' is a better ending (though I'd probably go with 'chart my own course', but maybe something that returns to the idea of the 'trot line' would be better? Are you the fish thrown back or escaping the hook?)
Just a thought
Gasoline and brackish water slosh
in our battered aluminum boat ................ you could even start with this line
lodged on the sands. At night, the lake
is a sound, not a visible as in the day
but with darkness it all disappears
beneath the outboard motor's ____
I search the banks with my flashlight
describe the rocky shores, the sudden voids
of slough with a shaking hand
until my father cuts the engine
and we drift towards our trot line
and the lake returns.
...
Best, Knot
.
Posts: 894
Threads: 176
Joined: Jan 2021
(09-17-2021, 11:07 PM)Knot Wrote: .
Hi TqB,
I like this version (whether it's prose or poetry, no idea) but it feels like there's quite a lot missing, or still to be written, whichever you prefer
Maybe include a detail about launching the boat, I imagine that has a particular/distinctive sound when dragged across the sands?
The 'telegraph' idea still isn't working. I think the comparison with any other fishing line might be better.
Given 'the sound of the hook ...' I don't think you need the editorial 'struggling against the cruel hook' (are they 'hooks' or 'barbs'?)
The last six lines (though better) are ... lacking. 'bless the moment' seems to come out of nowhere, and 'tomorrow ... the day will be mine' begs the question, what will this day be? I'm confused on the timing here, I think. ('chart my dreams' is a better ending (though I'd probably go with 'chart my own course', but maybe something that returns to the idea of the 'trot line' would be better? Are you the fish thrown back or escaping the hook?)
Thanks Knot. Not willing to give up my telegraph line but I added the push off and a very few more details and edits. And for now, still in love with my new ending >  <
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