The Voyage

To make a headway against the tide,

The tide-rip and the windy afternoon,

The skillful sailor, salt consigned,

Impressed the canvas to new subtlety.

The engine off, a sporting gesture.

Found him moving aft, heading fore.

Heading forward, we go backward

Where we were. The day is pure

And time seems stopped somewhere.

The sounding shore, we passed far back,

As ancient as Circean chant

And lure, comes to sound once more.

Now the consternated sailor winces,

His skill debased, the wind long gone.

The open ocean, a lolling torpid giant,

Occasions nothing but philosophy.

He turns the engine on again

Asa last resort. Man cannot endure

To be going backward going forward.

The sirens wail in the rocks' sonority.