Recent History and the Sound of Canvas

You are old enough to remember canvas sails.
Your father’s last craft was powered by a set,
washed out and heavy as we pulled the ropes
and lifted them skyward to catch the wind.

They made a noise, slow and substantial
that today’s lightweight, almost plastic sails, do not.
Unfurling into another age,
slower work for a slower time.

It took time to lift the sails, time to begin the moving
out from the piers and into the bay,
a slow acceleration that left room for mistakes
and weariness.

So when you see the painting from another century,
boats in Venice, you are spellbound. For you,
it is not history, or at least if it is history,
it is yours. You can hear the wood hull groan,
and the thick sails find the wind

and you are reminded how much of you
lives in another time and place. Old books
and antiques are your friends. Time is spent,
on the best of days at least, being slow.

Slow enough to feel. To imagine. To remember.
Slow enough to make new mistakes
instead of revisiting the old ones again and again,
driven by habit and a world too fast.

About this poem

The painting is by Walter Palmer, “Drying the Nets”. from an exhibition of paintings of Venice at the Fenmore art museum in Cooperstown, NY.

My dad’s last sailboat was a 26′ wooden boat from the 1950’s.

For all the technology I love and use, I am basically A creature from another time.

Tom