28 January 2024

By Philip Kuepper

Shell and oars
hang at rest, winters,
in the northern world.
Seeing them so,
I also see
Shackleton, Amundsen, Peary, Scott
icebound, at Points Desolation,
men born to argue with the elements.
Theirs was to wrestle with the arctic,
their mat sheer ice.
They grappled with hooks;
rowers, oars,
and on mats more pliable.
Though try and get a grip on any water.
Ice, at least, is solid.
But to row is to explore
an element so everyday,
yet an element that is going to go
its own way, regardless,
an element of which the human body is made,
and yet remains beyond grasping.
It isn’t, then, surprising why
we often can’t get hold of ourselves.
We carry in us
the mystery of our own making.

(2 January 2024)