Tag Archives: fishing

Using form: John Beaton, ‘Killing a Coho’

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I grip its tail, hammock its back,
and swing its head down with a crack
on rock, then feel its spasms judder
through my hands as, with a shudder,
it stills,
a grand finale that fulfills
some ancient impulse in my mind.

Poking my finger through a gill,
I cause the raker fronds to spill
blood that drip drips as I carry
the silver deadweight of my quarry,
my kill,
toward a tidal pool
the sunset has incarnadined.

My knife begins behind its throat
and blood-clouds billow out and bloat
then seep into an outflow, seaward,
where baitfish burrow in the seaboard
in schools,
their heads in sand, small fools
kidding themselves they’re hard to find.

I slit its stomach. From that sac
their half-digested eyes peer back,
sandlance dumbstruck at being hunted
in shallow flats this prowler haunted,
this fish
whose every feeding flash
signalled flesh to seals behind.

Somewhere nearby a black bear roars;
wolves salivate; an antler gores
a starving cougar; orcas cripple
humpbacks, bite their fins, then grapple
great bulks
till bleeding, savaged hulks
sink; and then there’s humankind.

No kindness here. This salmon swam
full speed to seize my lure then, wham,
became a madcap, hell-for-leather,
death-row inmate on a tether
and fed
the caveman in my head.
This coast is one big hunting blind.

*****

John Beaton writes: “I’m a lifelong fly-fisher but I’ve always had twinges of conscience about hurting and killing fish. Catch-and-release makes me question whether I’m being cruel. But there’s also a part of me that still connects with the beautiful brutality of the eat-or-be-eaten ecosystems in which we live. This poem tries to express that perspective in the context of an actual experience—the catching and killing of a coho salmon off a rocky shoreline near Tofino.

I chose a form to tell the story with some element of shock and violence. Each stanza has seven lines: one and two are tetrameter with masculine rhymes; three and four are also tetrameter but with feminine rhymes to cushion what comes next; five and six are monometer and trimeter respectively with masculine rhymes and these cropped lines set up a sense of surprise and violence; and line seven is tetrameter with a masculine ending that ties the poem together by rhyming with all the other seventh lines.

There’s some justification for killing the coho—the victim is itself a killer. And the turn at the end of the penultimate stanza connects humans with the savagery of the wildlife.

Sometimes you find a ‘eureka’ word—one that fits rhyme, meter, and sense so well you think ‘wow.’ This poem has one I think of that way: incarnadined.”

John Beaton’s metrical poetry has been widely published and has won numerous awards. He recites from memory as a spoken word performer and is author of Leaving Camustianavaig published by Word Galaxy Press, which includes this poem. Raised in the Scottish Highlands, John lives in Qualicum Beach on Vancouver Island.
https://www.john-beaton.com/

Photo: “Coho Spawning on the Salmon River” by BLM Oregon & Washington is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Potcake Poet’s Choice: John Beaton, ‘Shadow-casting’

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Cast your line toward the sun
and let your shadow fall behind you.
Face the glare, absorb its stun,
and cast your line toward the sun
for casting shade makes wild things run;
so face the brightness though it blind you—
cast your line toward the sun
and let your darkness fall behind you.

John Beaton writes: “It’s often said that fly-fishing is about more than fish—that it has mystical, or at least meditative, aspects. I feel that way. This little poem illustrates how my fly-fishing thoughts one day wandered from the river-bank to philosophy.

The title echoes a term from the book and subsequent movie, A River Runs Through It. Away from the river Brad Pitt may have become a hellion but, on the water, he’s a magician. Supposedly, by casting repeatedly in the air he can make the trout think a hatch of flies is taking place. It’s a dubious concept, but the term suits the way light and fly-casting in the poem take on metaphorical significance.

The poem has been previously published in Gray’s Sporting Journal. Its form, which comes from medieval French poetry, is the “triolet”. The triolet has only eight lines and some repeat. The first, fourth and seventh lines are almost identical, as are the second and eighth. The rhyme pattern is ABaAabAB, with capital letters denoting repeats. My version has four-beat lines (“tetrameter”) and the beats in the first line are: CAST your LINE toWARD the SUN.”

—

John Beaton’s metrical poetry has been widely published and has won numerous awards. He recites from memory as a poetry performer. This poem appears in his book “Leaving Camustianavaig” published by Word Galaxy Press. Raised in the Scottish Highlands, John lives in Qualicum Beach on Vancouver Island.

https://www.john-beaton.com/

Photo: ‘Deschutes shadow-casting’ from John Beaton