“Reverie on Duty (Taps)”
Reverie to Duty (Taps)
There’s a certain sequence of notes, not exactly a scale–let’s say “Taps”–that resonates in chords in the striving soul.
One harmonic sounds in sadness. Maybe, even, shuddering. We can’t help but think of endings–
Another harmonic sounds (if we’re lucky) in satisfaction, and another – the third tone of the chord–as thrill: the thrill of fitting into a tradition, like the first wearing of white gloves, first billfold in back pocket.
But tonight I think of Duty, and that, in turn, brings up fried fish–the story of the daughter who watches her mother, throughout her childhood, cutting off the two curled edges of a fillet–like so, like so—-before committing it to the frying pan.
The daughter then teaches her own daughters, that–like so, like so–they must cut off the ends of all fish before cooking; that this is the proper way to cook fish; that they are women who cook fish in this proper way.
Years later–when the daughter sits beside her mother (now grandmother, maybe even great)–knitting perhaps, or, more likely, bemoaning the decline of current days, and asks how this tradition was handed down, the mother/grandmother pauses, thinks, and explains that she just always had a very small frying pan.
Duty, traditional duty–we like to think of it as an obligation owed to nothing but an undersized skillet.
But now I hear the harmonics of Taps again–and fear, listening, that its sombre notes mean the loss of light and of all light’s twists and turns, those rainbows we want to pursue, be.
Still, one tends to child, parent, damaged child, damaged parent, person who feels like child, parent or just damaged–a fish out of water–
One tends also to things—-job, house, list–that feel a bit more like the squared-off fillet–
All I can tell myself is that rainbows can be found on fish too, if you look carefully–
Even fillets once had them–
And that, in the mind, there are surely all kinds of scales to be seen, seen through, weighed, balanced, listened to–
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Because this is April, National Poetry Month, I am calling the above a prose poem and also my 23rd poem this month. (For some reason, I seem to feel that it’s my duty to write a new poem every day this month, so at this point, I am calling almost everything I write a poem!) Thanks for your patience!
I am also linking this poem to dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night and to Imperfect Prose, both very supportive sites full of interesting writers. Check them out!
Explore posts in the same categories: poetryTags: cutting off the ends of the fish, duty as taps, manicddaily, National Poetry Month, painting of iron pan, prose poem about duty, prose poem about fish story
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ManicDDaily 
April 23, 2012 at 10:19 pm
I would certainly call it a poem–just don’t call it late for dinner(as we say down here in Dixie..especially a nice fried fish dinner) I love the double entendre in the last lines, and the sound of Taps–evokes a feeling even in the imagination that tempers waste and loss with some sort of …nobility, I suppose–perhaps that’s what duty’s for. Anyway, enjoyed this, and I can’t wait for this freakin month to be over, on the one hand, and on the other, will miss both reading and writing what gets out into the light of day that we might otherwise suppress or ignore, or let fry too long in that very small skillet. I really like all the different strands in this, K.
April 23, 2012 at 10:36 pm
EVERYTHING is a poem. And this, certainly, is.
Love this line:
“All I can tell myself is that rainbows can be found on fish too, if you look carefully–”
I adore prose, and this is lovely.
April 24, 2012 at 7:25 am
Like the picture, it looks very coppery, like the best kin d of pan. And a good story.
April 24, 2012 at 8:36 am
wow…so full of emotion after reading this….the feelings of sitting by my MIL as she passed painfully and being unable to give breath to words….the finale ont eh fish…and ultimately the scales is beautiful…hard time typing in the tears though…
April 24, 2012 at 9:03 am
Well, thanks so much, Brian. That is very kind. Being near someone dying is pretty shocking/shaking. k.
April 24, 2012 at 10:56 am
Emotional and a good write…love this line…All I can tell myself is that rainbows can be found on fish too, if you look carefully–
April 24, 2012 at 2:08 pm
I found it very easy to identify with this poignant piece. these lines in particular–
Still, one tends to child, parent, damaged child, damaged parent, person who feels like child, parent or just damaged–a fish out of water–
nicely penned
April 24, 2012 at 2:34 pm
rainbows can be found on fish too…I just LOVE this…and so true..the frying pan story made me smile…wonder how many traditions were passed on like this..never exactly sure why we’re doing things in a certain way…nice
April 24, 2012 at 2:38 pm
Great narrative poetry- this made me think about balance in life- ‘we can’t help but think of endings’ but also we need to balance this with living and appreciating life…there are rainbows to be found even in a trout as you say- so in everything there is balance – even in death there can exist beauty- I’m nit sure if this is what you wanted to get across- but this is the feeling it roused in me- resonated quite deeply and made me think of those that ive lost…very powerful…(stu mcp)
April 24, 2012 at 2:41 pm
The ending ties it all together nicely !! This was nice to read !
“One harmonic sounds in sadness. Maybe, even, shuddering. We can’t help but think of endings–” I really liked these lines !!
April 24, 2012 at 6:28 pm
Thank you, Cloudfactor–and others too, Stu. K.
April 24, 2012 at 2:46 pm
i like the harmonic of taps
wouldn’t it be nice if the fish just jumped into the frying pan?
apollo and the two muses
April 24, 2012 at 2:48 pm
wow… you made me smile and then tear up and then smile again at those rainbows. i love the story of this, the why it was done this way, i think so much of life (and poetry) is like that, we ascribe meanings of our own to things that start out as something completely other.
i’m going to remember this one for a long time.
April 24, 2012 at 6:29 pm
Thanks so much, Kelly. k.
April 24, 2012 at 2:52 pm
This is great. I love the cycle of life as shown here. Some amazing lines in here as well.
Duty, traditional duty–we like to think of it as an obligation owed to nothing but an undersized skillet.
and
All I can tell myself is that rainbows can be found on fish too, if you look carefully–
Even fillets once had them–
And that, in the mind, there are surely all kinds of scales to be seen, seen through, weighed, balanced, listened to–
Really, really good. Thanks
April 24, 2012 at 3:39 pm
Karin–thinking of all those ‘shoulds’–the duties–that become so because
“it as an obligation owed to nothing but an undersized skillet”.
Our lives need to fit the forms our Father gives us, not someone else’s.
at least that’s what I got out of this.
by the by…………HOW do you have time to write a poem a day? I guess ’cause you’re a writer and that other day job is just well, your job. 🙂
April 24, 2012 at 3:50 pm
Ha. I haven’t really had the time! My day job is pretty consuming, but I am lucky/unlucky to be quite driven. A lot of “shoulds” in my brain pan.
April 24, 2012 at 5:24 pm
My skillet is extra large…so I put in two trout, with tails cut off, and they fit nicely. (That is a lie–I don’t cook!)
However, life is LIKE THAT also, as you have shown.
Who in the world would EVER have known?
Or guessed?
THANK YOU!!!
April 24, 2012 at 5:53 pm
A strong poem with many undercurrents. What I take from it is that sometimes lessons are passed from generation to generation; and yes, rainbows CAN be found on fish…and probably a lot more places if only we open our eyes.
April 24, 2012 at 6:18 pm
Thanks so much, Mary.
April 24, 2012 at 6:55 pm
Great tale, certainly a poem indeed. I suppose no matter the tone or current things come about as they should. Rainbows on fish, hmm the cat might find that a tasty dish..haha
April 24, 2012 at 7:01 pm
Ha! Absolutely. K.
April 24, 2012 at 9:11 pm
I like your metaphor of everyday life, skillet and fish, as well as your take on duty and the family. Certain ways of cooking are passed on from mother to children, and with that tradition too ~
April 24, 2012 at 10:38 pm
I love how you meander through this, the pace, the circling back to themes; it is such an appropriate tempo. The rainbow fish line resonated with me for a different reason: sometimes I get viewers at my gallery openings that comment that they don’t like iridescent colors because they’re unnatural. Then I remind them of fish scales, feathers, and butterfly wings and they always pause and go, oh. It’s important to really look, this is marvelous.
April 25, 2012 at 10:46 am
This is something special, and I agree with all that has been said before, I only can add that it moved me and resonated with my heart.
April 25, 2012 at 10:59 am
THanks so much, Shanyns.
April 25, 2012 at 6:37 pm
I’m really liking the prose layouts. Everything flows, the language fits just so and it all just works. I’ve seen some of your other prose ones, and you’ve got a good thing going with them.
Yeah, it’s a poem. A great one.
April 25, 2012 at 6:57 pm
Thanks so much! K.
April 25, 2012 at 6:58 pm
PS – I personally find that a longer piece is easier to read in a prose layout. I get a bit scared off by really long poems. k.
April 25, 2012 at 8:08 pm
Flash fiction is now in vogue, so these days, it’s so rare to see a well-done prose poem. But here you have one, that brings to mind the works of Mandelstam, and almost folkloric in its recounting of the story – a fish story! And yet, I feel that even in that salvish following of a “tradition”, without understanding of its origins, there is that sense of paying respect, almost, as you say, a sense of duty.
April 25, 2012 at 9:00 pm
Thanks, Sam. k.
April 25, 2012 at 10:23 pm
This is really amazing, a meditation on meanings passed down that somehow transcend history, passed on human actions at a level binding emotions, thoughts, and actions. This is an excellent and besutiful work.
April 25, 2012 at 10:29 pm
Thanks so much, Chaz. K.
April 26, 2012 at 8:53 am
You write beautifully. This is a very meaty (not fishy -har har) piece; I had to read it a couple times to really get in there and appreciate all you had to say. Thank you for sharing this with the IP community!
April 26, 2012 at 10:10 am
This is wonderful, the story that is not just really about fish and how to cook them, but so much more. You bring in the senses of sound, smell…. to duty, generations, relationships… and close to the end of it all, there is the feeling of hope, with the rainbows… but that is not the end, as you leave us with the different types of scales— love your ending– it leaves an opening for interpretation– in a chord that is not quite resolved….
April 26, 2012 at 9:18 pm
oh. my. this is definitely being highlighted at my place (imperfect prose) tomorrow, friend. an incredible piece… truly, well written. thank you. e.
April 26, 2012 at 9:25 pm
Thanks so much, Emily. Hope all is well. K.
April 27, 2012 at 9:35 am
Yes, there are rainbows in fish. Just ask the trout. I love the celebration of tradition. I love the words woven with rhythm and melody. I’m glad Em pulled you out of the crowd. 🙂
April 27, 2012 at 10:20 am
This one, these words, like the weaving of a tapestry, lots of beautiful threads here…
April 27, 2012 at 8:01 pm
Elizabeth–if you send me your URL I would go to it! Thanks. K.
April 27, 2012 at 8:19 pm
I had to take your words in slowly. Toss them around, the images, the background music and the symbolic/literal fish. I savored this piece of writing. So glad meet you here today.
April 27, 2012 at 9:23 pm
Thanks so much, Danelle. K.
April 27, 2012 at 9:25 pm
Danelle – if you send me a url, I’d be happy to visit your blog.
K.
April 28, 2012 at 6:49 am
http://www.heseesme.wordpress.com. 🙂