Photographer’s Hell
It’s always that morning leaving New Orleans on I-10
when you see in the corner of your eye a small boat
in the bayou to your right, a breeze ruffling the surface
of the shining water & a seated fisherman casting his line
in a perfect arc across the narrow channel toward a stand
of swaying sweetgrass. You begin to salivate & start to pull over
onto the shoulder with your camera ready by your side
but an eighteen-wheeler’s right on your ass & you hesitate,
just a second, & the next second you’ve missed your chance,
that rippling carpet of diamonds & a thin strand of nylon
catching the light & defining the line between water & sky
lost in an instant. You drive on toward Biloxi, your mouth
brackish with the brine of a picture that will stay with you
for the rest of your life, that you can never share with anyone.
22 thoughts on "Photographer’s Hell"
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Ohhhhhhhh shut up! Beautiful.
I’m stunned. This poem has so much of what I need in a piece, fantastic language, drama, an effective turn….
“your mouth
brackish with the brine of a picture that will stay with you
for the rest of your life” — man, as a fellow photog, do I know this feeling. You capture it so well. Nice one.
Bill, I didn’t realize you were a photographer too. Is your stuff visible online?
My day job. http://www.brymerphotography.com
Thanks! I’ll check it out.
I’ve been there. You never forget that moment and never stop wishing you could share it with someone. Great poem.
Well thank goodness you’re ALSO a poet. It’s an effective backup plan! “Brackish with the brine” and the image of the thin nylon are really great. Also, I agree, the drive between New Orleans and Biloxi is fantastic!!
Yes it is. I want to go back someday. Of course the scene I saw, though common, will never happen exactly that way again. Of all the photos I failed to shoot in my life, it’s this one I regret the most.
You got the shot. Thanks for sharing.
Beautiful. This poem is bliss for me —- it brings back a similar view of swaying grasses that I saw as a child from the back seat of my parents car driving away from New Orleans ..…as we drove I marveled at those grasses wondering how the grew out of water like magic was involved—and you described them along with everything else in your enduring view with such affection….and that in doing so it triggered everything to life, as though experiencing a present moment . Such power—well done and Thank you!
Thank you, Ann! I’m glad you saw those sweetgrasses too. They are just beautiful in Savannah, where I also went on this road trip.
Beautifully done – and it happens with poems, too!
Your eye as a photographer is often evident in your poetry.
What a wonderful compliment, Melva! Thank you.
“It’s always that morning leaving New Orleans on I-10” – I love how this poem begins. It reminds me of the Groundhog Day movie. And the word “brackish” has such a wild ring to it. So we may not have the photo, but we have the picture through your words! Thanks for sharing it.
Groundhog Day, exactly! Thanks for picking up on that. And I did love brackish & brine, that alliteration.
What an exquisite scene you create, as well as the regret you couldn’t catch the photograph.
Well if this isn’t a metaphor for life!
Thanks to all for these kind comments.
Gorgeous!! I just love this poem!
Love the irony — we see the image more sharply than a photo would show, plus we get a fuller understanding of the photographer’s mind. Form works well here too.