Upload
daniel-halpern
View
214
Download
0
Embed Size (px)
Citation preview
Dead FishAuthor(s): Daniel HalpernSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 11, No. 1 (Winter, 1980), pp. 129-130Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20155477 .
Accessed: 18/06/2014 19:56
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
.
University of Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Iowa Review.
http://www.jstor.org
This content downloaded from 185.2.32.109 on Wed, 18 Jun 2014 19:56:42 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Dead Fish Daniel Halpern
The pale arc of line feeds
into the green of the bank
and drops its fly into the shallows
of the stream in shadow
without sound. The line floats down
onto water and the current
takes it on, deeper.
Cast after cast the fly moves
in the afternoon
from one edge of the stream
to the other, snapped into place
as I move downstream, replacing
cast with the imagined weight of a feeder trout unseen in current.
Shadows wobble the stream.
I see a fish hung near the bank, gills
at rest,
life only in buoyancy, its resistance against current.
I move close, drop the fly
upstream so it floats back
over the dull eyes of the sleeper
fish. The fly floats past. It won't move. It won't move
as I move closer. It hangs there
and won't move as I bring down the rock
with terrified force. In the explosion
of water I see the white fungus it has grown, the sucker-mouth
and its full fish-body not trout.
It is imperfection I hate,
the age, the gamelessness of immobility,
the sudden decision to live.
129
This content downloaded from 185.2.32.109 on Wed, 18 Jun 2014 19:56:42 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
When it floats to me
later, having fought to free itself
from branches of the stream trees,
I need its dead weight against my leg to know ambition and its net, how it turns
on the object pursued,
dead now and my prize as I cast in pale light, the evening
pulled in on a fly. and snakeskin failure suddenly peels away,
pulled off like cellophane from a cheap cigar.
130
This content downloaded from 185.2.32.109 on Wed, 18 Jun 2014 19:56:42 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions