When I was 12 years old, I saw the 1937 film “Captains Courageous” starring Spencer Tracy. For those unfamiliar with the film, IMDB describes the film as the story of “a spoiled brat (Freddie Bartholomew) who falls overboard from a steamship in the 1920s, gets picked up by a New England fishing boat, where he's made to earn his keep by joining the crew in their work.”
While watching the film, I experienced a remarkable feeling of familiarity and longing that was notable for its intensity and pervasive nature —a memory that has stayed with me throughout my life.
I have no doubt that this feeling was inspired in large part by my Grandpa Merritt, who taught me to fish when I was 4 years old. Our fishing adventures always included waking pre-dawn to go out and scour the lawn for earthworms, followed by floating blissfully along a river or lake, basking in the glow of the summer sun and his delight in my presence.
“Captains Courageous” awakened within me the idea that perhaps, somewhere long ago in time, some part of me that exists now had existed then and was carried forward through time as an emotional memory that blossomed in my 12-year-old girl’s heart. The fruit of that blossoming was a poem I called “The Shipwreck,” and that I wrote with so much flow and ease it was as if someone else was directing the pen.
This is that poem:
The Shipwreck
The Demons of the Deep
As if in fitful slumber
Rustle in their sleep
And drag the lifeboats under.
A struggling grasp at Life
A final gasp of breath
The ending of all strife
The peacefulness of death.
The wreckage on the waves
The cry of a lonely gull
The never-resting graves
The endless rise and fall.
As water demons leap
The lifeless bodies sleep.
By: Ashley Merritt
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