Hello Gil.  I thought this was a really nice poem--exquisite underwater imagery and a really striking line, "the underwater Eden of his everyday."  I like how he is transformed, first into a surface for light and shadow to play upon, then into an eel, and then at last into a man with a tool.  

I wonder, is he holding his breath?  seems like the strain and effort of doing so should be a part of it, both literally and metaphorically.

I thought your note--the uncertainty of what you want to make it into--was interesting. I am guessing that if you make it "less about pearl diving but more about finding what we need," that maybe the "boss man"--who really ties the poem to the literal diving activity--would go.  (It's funny, too, how that one word makes this a "class poem"!) Then you'd have him on the beach alone with his harvest.  What does he (or any of us) NEED?  That's a heck of a question.

On the micro level, it seems that "begins"--while it fits the meter, doesn't perfectly fit, because of course he does more than begin.  

Thanks.  This was a pleasure to read.

Rick Kempa
Rock Springs, Wyoming


-----Original Message-----
From: The Pennine Poetry Works on behalf of Gill McEvoy
Sent: Tue 5/15/2007 9:57 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: new post from Gill
 
Hi everyone, just to see if  there's life out there/.
This poem is not finished yet, but I'll post it anyway as I'm not sure whether to make into a more wide-ranging thing, less about pearl diving but more about finding what we need... 
I would be very grateful for any comments.


Pearl-diver

His eyes clear as he dives; he sees, 
approaching through the grey like figures in a fog, 
strange plants and trees, the underwater Eden 
of his everyday. Overhead a plate of light
tilts with the lift and fall of sea:
he's turned to ripples, shadows,
pale flesh jellied, trembling.
He slips in and out of thick stemmed weed, 
an eel of limb and muscle, reaches
out a hand at last and feels the rasp,
the rough stone curve of shells, and with his knife
begins to hack them from their base.
Some will hold the tiny grain of sand 
that has become the pearl. Back on the beach
he'll watch the boss-man split the shells,
marvel at that silver gleam of light inside, 
clutch his own small gleam of coin in frozen hands.

Gill McEvoy


Best wishes to everyone.