Words That Burn

Fishermen, by Basil Bunting (1900-1985)

Mesh cast for mackerel

by guess and the sheen’s tremor —

imperceptible if you haven’t the knack —

a difficult job;

 

hazardous and seasonal:

many shoals all of a sudden,

it would tax the Apostles to take the lot;

then drowse for months,

 

nets on the shingle,

a pint in the tap.

Likewise the pilchards come unexpectedly,

startle the man on the cliff.

 

“Remember us to the teashop girls.

Say we have seen no better legs than theirs,

we have the sea to stare at —

its treason, copiousness, and tedium.”