The Voyage of the Tangaroa*
If
you scientists had gotton on deck
You
may have noticed the Wilkins Ice Shelf, bigger than Aussie,
Instead
you got seasick down below
Wading
through incoming data slopping about in the bilges
And
then teams of seamount, cephalopod, benthic fauna scientists
got
together for tea
We
mostly miss the inner invitation to leave behind your mind
In
Island Bay
They
feel the southerly presence of You
A
white cold front making windows untouchable
Bergs
of cloud up from Kaikoura
Like
the cold cultural fear that blows from the shivering continent of the Capital’s
transactions
Walling
itself up or hiding behind hills and corridors
The
soul is a vast and quiet land
Few
go there
The
occasional visitors are mystics and psychos
They
are incarcerated, like Scott, in frozen beauty
No
wonder they die young
Yesterday
I woke up and felt the cold
I
packed my bags and scientific gear,
Probes
and prayerbeads
And
headed south
*
Antarctic research ship
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