Shark Teeth Among the Stars
the secret, poetic world of Pablo
I know whales who recite entire novels which would rival Melville, Hemingway or Dostoevsky. I swim with octopus playwrights who stage tragedies so affecting, that puffer fish will weep deeply upon mere mention of their titles. I know a few starfish with a particular penchant for haiku. Basho would be pleased with their tiny verse recited on the bottom of the sea floor.
Who am I ? You ask, almost breathlessly as you adore my form?
I am a silent meandering soul. My blood flows with rhyme, meter and simile.
I am the renowned shark-poet of the deep! Very nice, no?
My friends call me Pablo. You may also, if my artistic charms entice you. Let me share my story, dear sweet reader. Come, swim with me.
You should know: I'm not the only shark whose brain beats with the wings of metaphor, but I am the best. No need for modesty here, my little friend. I'm incapable of humility: as you will see, poetry flows from me quite easily.
There are many secrets you will never know. Perhaps you think sharks are only pea-brained monoliths, silently brooding through the thick seas in search of blood? I can’t blame you, silly misinformed human! TV watcher! So sad. Many of you tend to see sharks as evil gluttonous mongers, but what could be further from the truth? We simply are ourselves. We are true to our nature.
"To thine own self be true.” Yes, my friend. Shakespeare understood sharks. I once heard that he kept a shark tooth close to his heart as he composed his sonnets. Oh, masterful bard! OH, brother of the deepest sentiments! Oh glorious poet blood!
Excuse me, I digress. Back to my poetry. Even as a pup, I had a gift for turning my beauteous thoughts into meter. I often kept poems to myself, as they were some of the truest exclamations of my soul emerging from some mysterious place within. But now, I have accepted what the sea gods have given me! I will share with you one of my latest, composed while I was off the beautiful coast of Bora-Bora. I had some delicious meals there.
“I am the chosen poet of the deep-
My dark eyes contain the beginnings of gravity.
I move through sheer curtains of blue and green sapphire
With desirous thoughts, endlessly intertwining
I am forever moving, forever seeking.
Water cleanses my poetic vision”
My poetry is good, yes? Of course it is, my little-toothed friend.
Heraclitus, the Greek philosopher, wrote that “Man was born in the belly of sharks.” How dreadful! How misguided! I find that sentiment insulting to the grandeur of my form! But you see? Even that philosopher, with his limited man- brain, managed to recognize his own predatory nature. The same man who goes around pointing fingers at sea creatures and vilifying them in movies of questionable quality!! Jaws?! Sharkanado? PLEEEEAAASE!!! Enough! Enough! ENOUGH! I am not your monster!
Excuse me…. I lost my mind there for a moment. Forgive me: it can be very frustrating to be so misunderstood- to be so feared, so reviled!! It reminds me of a poem I composed along the coast of South Africa. Lovely waters there, good times.
“IT was the ancient sharks
who first whispered secrets
into the little nascent ears of
those blobs of ancient slime
who would eventually crawl
to shore and become human. “
I’m sorry. Please don’t be insulted. Yes, I did say you descended from a blob of slime. You are still somewhat slimy, no? Poetry comes from deep within my cerebral hemispheres. As I am sure you will agree: a poet must not censor himself, even when the truth will hurt. Yes? Stay, my friend, I promise not to insult you anymore.
You see, since fighting my way from the womb, I have covered more of this ocean than you can comprehend, amigo! I swam endlessly, like a sleek shooting star of shark form searching through the endless depths of space. The oceans hold infinity, my friend. I have dreamt of images intertwined and spectacular from ocean to ocean! I possess an artist's soul! Deep divine energies! Am I bragging? Do I lie? Come along! I will illustrate.
Of all gifts, silence was the greatest given to sharks. I'm sorry, my little soft-skinned friend, but the truth is: deep shark thoughts are so complex that to even try to translate them into something a human could understand would be a sad task, a grand reduction indeed! Trust me, I’m dumbing a lot of this down for you now. I almost feel as if I am using baby words. Please don’t be offended. It hurts because it’s true.
I find it ironic that humans accuse me of being violent, deadly, mindless and sinister. That is not the nature of my soul! Do you call a man violent because he bites into a double cheese burger? I must eat, you know. Oh how rich is my poet’s blood! Oh how burns my heart of fire! If you must compare me to a human, I am like one of those burly bikers with a tattoo of momma on my pectoral fin. Such sensitive shark passion runs through me! Such a lustful fever for life! Like most poets, sometimes my emotions overwhelm me and I feel as though I could wither like a jellyfish and drift to the bottom, swooning in an ecstasy of rhyming couplets. I'm sorry, my new friend, if I reveal too much. Language can also be a curse, you see.
Which reminds me! I was chewing upon this poem yesterday:
“OH my two-chambered heart!!
My endless yearnings!
How I long for the silhouettes of seals
floating black above, on the surface-
their deliciously sleek forms drifting
in, out and between incessant waves-
the ocean above illuminated and
shattered with blue and white light...
Their cute faces trigger within me
a vast primordial urge!
A cold hunger runs through me,
my fins fill with lightning!
I will breach to the moon
For a divine taste of their sweet flesh!”
Ahh, that one gives me the munchies. I told you. I am a poet, yes? .
But perhaps I brag too much. No? You are too kind, dear friend. You must know that I am also a lover. Shall I tell you of my mon-amie? My paramour? My soft-temptress? My Julieta? My forbidden fruit?
She is a manta ray. Last summer, I freed her from a fishing net in the waters off southern Australia. I knew right away that I was in love with this cartilaginous creature!! How she makes my claspers quiver! Graceful and tender, she endlessly temps me with her pelvic girdle and her beautiful dorsal fins. For her, I would give ten thousand teeth to the sky, and like stars they would spell her name across the heavens!
I composed this poem for her only recently, my friend. I recited it to a clam near Tahiti. His jaw dropped open.
for Cleo:
“She tempts me into
Subtropical waters.
I dream of her tail,
Her sweet open mouth.
I would feed her zooplankton
Upon a glorious platter of oyster shell and coral!
I would follow her
Even to depths of the Arctic!
I would swim backwards!
I would……I would.....”
I am sorry . I must stop there.
I cannot tell you the rest of this poem here. It becomes very vivid, very sensual, and much too deep to share upon our first meeting, my little friend. You couldn’t possibly comprehend the endless depths of my blood! My art!
Ahh, my delicious compadre. I must keep swimming. I must keep following these poems until the end. I will only say this to you: if we cross paths again, and I glide quietly past you: please, do not mistake my silence for stupidity or rudeness; do not misjudge my hunger for avarice; do not misinterpret my aloof nature as pride. I am a poet, my little friend---I am always lost in my thoughts, forever composing verse in the deepest of the sweet blue mystery. Adieu, adieu, adieu!
About the Creator
Heath Hardin
teacher,
father,
songwriter : I record as Olds Sleeper
poet
furniture maker
living in Pennsylvania.
loving life.
www.oldssleeper.bandcamp.com
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